


Maiden, Mother, and Crone

by rinarielle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-21 11:30:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9547235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinarielle/pseuds/rinarielle
Summary: History will remember her deeds, but it will not remember her.Robert's rebellion ends with the Targaryens destroyed and with a Baratheon king on the Iron Throne with a Lannister queen ruling at his side.That queen is not Cersei Lannister.AU in which a different Lannister girl becomes queen, shaping a wildly different Westeros than the one in the A Song of Ice and Fire Novels. The tragedy, however, remains constant and the same.





	1. The Storm

The third Lannister child was born in the midst of a great storm. The year is mentioned in the tomes, but never the storm. Such things are almost always forgotten, but that isn't surprising - most things are. Entire lives are reduced to one line of text, most likely in a dusty old book that nobody will ever read. Most won't even receive so much as that. And so people forget, because there is simply no room to remember. They'll forget more than the storm, though. They'll forget the way her eyes crinkled around the edges when she smiled, or the gentle touch of her hand on the shoulders of her children. The fervor with which she prayed to the seven will be lost to history, as will as her determination to protect those she loved. 

She will be written about in the great stories of history, remembered in the hearts of her people as one of the best queens Westeros would ever have. But nobody will remember  _her_ , not really. The minstrels will sing about how she was fair of face and kind of heart, but there are only a select few who will ever know about the iron underneath. Her husband may have worn the crown, but it was his wife that ruled every one of his seven kingdoms. Nobody will forget that, but only because it's impossible to forget something that was never known.

Of course, it is not just her good qualities that will be forgotten. Although most traces of Cersei Lannister will be lost to time, her memory reduced to nothing more than the daughter of a Lord who died before her time. It was a tragedy, but nothing notable. But there was once a time when her younger sister was completely eclipsed by her, doomed to forever be second best to and less important than her sister who was destined to be a queen. But the gods have a twisted sense of humor, and destiny is rarely what it is predicted to be. It shouldn't be surprising, really, when second daughters become queens. They say that whenever a Targaryen is born the gods flip a coin, but in truth, it is nothing special - it seems to be the only way they make decisions. Heads, tails, queens, kings, they are all the same. All there is left to do is to pray it lands on the right side. The Lannisters have never been known for being particularly devout, but it is not difficult to understand why the Queen spent so much time at the sept.

She was selfish, too, in a way that only a Lannister could be. It was the inevitable byproduct of being raised by Tywin Lannister, and it plagued her throughout her entire life. Selfish motives resulted in selfless actions, in her case, but the tomes will not mention that. She will be remembered as the wife of one king and the mother of another, as the sister of Jaime Lannister and the daughter of Tywin. Even she was guilty of tying her existence to someone else, claiming that she never mattered until her little brother, Tyrion, was born. She raised him in her mother's absence, beginning her career in motherhood at all of four years old. It was the first time she had a purpose, but that is not to say that she never mattered beforehand. She was valuable solely by the virtue of being herself. So you see, it is important that her story begins here, on a stormy night on the shores of Casterly Rock. To tell the full account of her life, one must go back to the moment that established her significance. Contrary to what you would believe, it was not the birth of her brother, nor was it the day Cersei died. it wasn't her wedding, nor was it when she gave birth to her first child. It wasn't when Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons returned home to Westeros, nor was it the day she brought peace back to the realm. The maesters might pick any of those moments to serve as her first of great historical meaning, but this is not one of their tomes. This is a song. It is difficult to believe, but oftentimes there is far more truth in songs than in the maesters' tomes.

It starts as waves crash onto the rocky shore of her home, sea salt spraying far beyond the beach. It stung the peasants' eyes as they pulled their battered cloaks tighter around their backs, shivering as they hurried to find shelter. The market was closing, merchants frantically attempting to salvage their goods from the rain overhead. Farther away, high up in the castle, a little girl is born, with hair like cornsilk and eyes greener than the sea. The baby will have many titles in her life, but only one name. It is Jeyne, and this is her story.


	2. More than the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infant was never supposed to be a queen, nor were there any other great ambitions laid out for her. She would most likely marry one of her father’s bannermen and live quietly, but happily. Her future was never meant to be one of greatness, but Tywin made sure it was one of love.

When she was born, her father took one look at her and decided to name her Jeyne. To anyone else in Westeros, it seemed to be an insult to the hours-old child. Cersei and Jaime were both noble names, unique so as to stand out in the pages of history. Their names were fitting for a queen of Westeros and a future lord of Casterly Rock, respectively. In contrast, Jeyne’s name was hardly fit for a commoner. It seemed that every other woman in Westeros was named Jeyne. Surely Tywin Lannister could come up with a better name for his third child, but he did not. People regarded it as a sign of dismissal, but they could not have been more wrong. Jeyne had been his mother’s name. It was, in fact, the greatest gift he could have given his daughter, more precious than all the piles of gold stored in the Lannister vaults. The truth of it was that when Tywin looked at Cersei for the first time he saw a queen, when Jaime was born he saw a knight, but the first time he looked into his youngest daughter’s eyes he saw his mother staring back. The infant was not supposed to be a queen, nor were there any other great ambitions laid out for her. She would most likely marry one of her father’s bannermen and live quietly, but happily. Her future was never meant to be one of greatness, but Tywin made sure it was one of love. Cersei and Jaime were the golden twins, the bright, shining future of House Lannister, but Jeyne was his daughter. And so she was named, and so she was loved.

The great storm that marked the little girl’s birth passed, as did the years. Soon the golden tufts of hair on the infant’s head turned into curls of the same color, bouncing as her chubby little legs tried to keep up with her older siblings. She was never quite fast enough, but that didn’t matter, not when it came to Jaime. He always waited. Jeyne would watch, her green eyes widening in fright and fascination as her brother slashed his wooden sword in the air. When Jeyne was old enough to understand it, the siblings used to pretend to have a tourney. Jaime, of course, would be the victorious knight, while Cersei was his fair maiden. Jeyne’s role was usually the fair maiden’s serving girl, or the squire, or, if Cersei was angry, the horse. Sometimes, on the very best of days, Cersei would be called away for lessons with her septa, and Jeyne got to be the beautiful maiden. She would tremble with excitement as she tied a spare ribbon around her brother’s “lance” (it was almost always a twig), sealing the ribbon closed with a kiss. That was what Cersei always did, anyway, so Jeyne figured it must have been what was proper.

“Fight well, my knight,” the little girl said, echoing her elder sister’s words. Jaime laughed, kissed her on the cheek, and went to fight his next invisible enemy. Jeyne took great care to ooo, aah, and gasp at all the right moments until her brave older brother defeated his opponent. At the conclusion of the fight, he came to kneel at her feet, lifting his imaginary helmet off of his golden head.

“Arise, knight. What do you wish as a reward for fighting so… so-“ the toddler struggled to find the right word, finally giving up as she huffed out a sigh. Jaime laughed, and Jeyne couldn’t be sad about not knowing the word anymore, not if it made Jaime laugh. There was absolutely nothing in the world that she loved more than that.

“How about valiantly, fair lady?” Jaime supplied. She nodded, looking expectantly back at her knight. He gestured for her to continue.

“So valiantly,” she finished triumphantly, beaming from ear to ear.

"Your love is reward enough, my lady," Jaime responded, his normally jubilant face remaining perfectly solemn. The littlest Lannister couldn't take it anymore, breaking out into a fit of giggles. Jaime raised an eyebrow before brandishing his sword with a devilish grin, chasing her around the courtyard. The pair ran around, shrieking with laughter, the sun warming up their backs as they went. A voice in the back of her head reminded her that Cersei always stayed in character, and she certainly was never chased, but Jeyne found that she didn't care. Her sister might have been the perfect lady, but she didn't think Cersei had ever been as happy as this.

Before they knew it, their perfect afternoon had faded into evening. The sun that had been the day's companion was beginning to set, signaling the end of playtime. The bright, friendly blue sky had faded into varying shades, a painting far more lovely than any artist could hope to create. Jaime tugged at Jeyne's sleeve, pointing towards two figures approaching them from the castle. The smaller of the two had long, golden hair that curled around her shoulders. She walked with her nose stuck up in the air, as if there was some sort of nasty smell beneath it. There was no-one it could be but Cersei. It was all she could do to hold back a sour face as she realized her elder sister must have been finished with her lessons and had inevitably come to ruin her fun. Her dismay at the sight of her sister did not last long, quickly being replaced by joy as she caught a glimpse of the second figure. She too had golden hair, but hers was tied up in a braided knot at the back of her head. She too walked with her head held high, but not so much that it was arrogant. The woman exuded grace and poise, and although Jeyne could not see it, she knew a warm smile was on her face. Nobody was able to walk with that much beauty in her step, nobody except her mother.

"Mama, Mama!" Jeyne cried, sprinting as fast as her legs could carry her into her mother's awaiting arms. 

Joanna laughed gracefully (she did everythinggracefully), a warm, tinkling sound that reminded Jeyne of bells, as she lifted her youngest daughter up. "Hello, sweet girl. I trust you and Jaime had fun?" Her mother greeted her. 

"Yes, we had  _lots_  of fun. He was the knight and I got to be his lady!" She said everything very quickly, letting out little puffs of air between every couple of words. Cersei's brows furrowed, rage brewing in her eyes. They were the same green as their mother's, but where Cersei's eyes were hard and cold, mother's were soft, warm, and far lovelier than her sister's. 

"I'm his lady, not you," she sneered, "Come now, who would want a whiny, ugly thing like you to be their lady? Jaime needs a queen, not a bab-" A sharp look from her mother tied a knot in Cersei's tongue, but her murderous expression remained the same.

"Don't listen to your sister, darling, she doesn't mean it."

Cersei opened her mouth to retort, but one more glance from her mother drove any thought of retaliation from her mind.

"Come, girls, let's go get our knight and take him to supper, shall we?" Both Cersei and Jeyne nodded empathetically in response. The two girls had little in common, but neither could deny the other's love for their brother. "Very well, then," Lady Joanna replied, gently setting Jeyne back down on the ground. Each girl took one of their mother's hands as they set out to meet their brother. It did not take them long to reach him, as he'd been walking in their direction as well. Jeyne had caught him beginning to run towards them, but thinking better of it, slowing down his pace to a much more respectable speed. Cersei would have approved of his decision, most likely on the basis that real knights do not cling to their mother's skirts. Jeyne never minded it, though. Perhaps grown knights did not behave like that, but although Jaime was very big, he was not so grown that it was embarrassing for him to show his love for their mother.

"Jaime, darling, come along, it's time for supper," Joanna said, smoothing down the soft waves of hair on top of his head. He blushed sheepishly, embarrassed enough for it to show on his face but not enough for him to shake off his mother's affections. 

"Can't we stay out a little longer?" Jeyne asked, tugging on her mother's skirts, "I want to watch the sun go to bed."

Joanna bit her lip. "I don't think so, sweetling. It's late, and we must be on time for dinner."

Cersei nodded along with her. "We're eating with father tonight," she informed her siblings. Her nose ascended higher into the air, clearly pleased with having known more than Jeyne.

"Oh." Jeyne tried her very best not to look put out - she really, truly tried - but it seemed that her efforts were in vain. Her lady mother sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

"I suppose a few minutes wouldn't hurt. It is very beautiful, isn't it?" Jeyne murmured her agreement, although she wasn't quite sure if anyone could hear her. The family was close enough to the edge of the rock that you could easily sea the sun glistening over the water, the waves soft and calm beneath them. Jeyne yearned to reach out for it, but Mama said it was far too dangerous for her to go near the water. Jaime and Cersei hardly ever obeyed their mother's orders, but Jeyne had always found it difficult not to. She spoke with such authority and such love that it was near impossible not to do whatever she said. Besides, if she didn't Mama would be disappointed, and Jeyne thought that she'd rather drown thrashing against the rocks than disappoint her mother.

Jaime shifted, as if he were about to say something but decided against it. This, Jeyne knew, was their father's teachings, not Cersei's. He had made if very clear that beauty was to be used as a weapon, not as something for Jaime to swoon over. Even though he didn't say it, Jeyne knew he agreed. If Jaime had been born a peasant instead of the heir to Casterly Rock, she imagined that he'd be an artist. Her brother loved beauty, so it only made sense that he would want to create it.

Jeyne decided to answer for him. "It is beautiful isn't it? Pinks and oranges and reds, all together in the sk-"

"And gold," Cersei interjected, "you forgot gold."  _No_ , she thought,  _not gold_. Gold was the color of Jaime and Cersei's hair and one of the colors of their house. It was the material that made up the furnishings of their home, and it was the shiny metal discs that Papa used to buy her treats. Gold belonged on Earth, not up in the sky. How could it be? Gold was always nearby, and the sky was so far away. It simply couldn't have travelled that far.

The four of them sat on the rocks for a few moments longer in silence, save for the waves crashing onto the sand and seagulls calling out to each other far off by the shore. Jeyne's mother wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, and together they watched the sun slowly begin its descent into the sky. After a few moments, the children's mother stood up, took her children by the hand, and led them to dinner. It was a different sort of happy then the giddy, gleeful energy of the afternoon. Different did not mean worse, though, and Jeyne found that she liked it just as much. This sort of happy felt like something warm in the bottom of her stomach and filled her with so much love she thought she might burst. The best word for it was content, but Jeyne thought that it was far more like bliss.    

**************************************************************

"Children," Joanna said over dinner, a wide smile on her face. Jeyne immediately perked up, the roasted potatoes she had been picking at instantly forgotten. "Your father and I have something very exciting to tell you."

"Are we going to the capitol?" Cersei asked eagerly.

"No, we're hosting a tourney!" Jaime exclaimed, practically bouncing out of his seat.

"We're getting a kitten!" Jeyne beamed, hopping out of her chair to embrace her mother. She was laughing openly, and even Tywin Lannister couldn't help but smile.

"No, darlings, I'm afraid not. I think you'll like this news much better though, don't you worry." Mama replied.

"What is it, Mama?" Jaime asked.

"Please, you have to tell us," Cersei insisted.

"Oh alright, if you insist. I'm pregnant," Joanna announced, placing a hand on her stomach. Cersei's face immediately dropped, only to be schooled back into a false expression of happiness. Jaime, on the other hand, was indeed far more excited about the news than a tourney, immediately leaping out of his chair to give his mother a hug. Meanwhile, Jeyne was very, very confused. 

“Jeyne,” said Tywin, “do you know what that means?” 

She squirmed in her chair, unwilling to admit that she did not, in fact, know what pregnant meant. Jeyne never liked not knowing things when Father asked. He usually didn’t get angry, but she liked disappointing her papa even less than she liked letting down her mother. 

“It means that you’re going to have a new brother or sister,” Jeyne’s father explained.

“Isn’t that wonderful, sweetling?” Joanna added, her smile far wider than Tywin’s.

“But… but where are they?” Jeyne asked. She peeked under the table to see if that was where the babe was hiding, but nobody was there. Perhaps they were hiding inside of the spiced turkey they were eating for supper?

“No, darling, the babe is in my belly,” Joanna explained, patting it gently. 

A look of pure, unadulterated horror crossed Jeyne’s little face. “You ate it? Mama, how could you!” She didn’t know how to take care of babies, but she was certain you were _not_ supposed to eat them.

Something miraculous happened then, something Jeyne had never seen before. Tywin Lannister began to _laugh_ , a deep, rumbling sound that reminded her of the happy feeling in her stomach that she felt during the sunset. It was strange to hear her father laugh, but Jeyne found that she liked it very much. 

Her mother struggled to catch her breath as she explained the situation, “I didn’t _eat_ the babe, that’s just where it grows, darling, don't worry.” 

Jeyne nodded. Heat rose into her cheeks, and she suddenly felt very foolish indeed.

“I understand now,” she replied, although she didn’t really mean it. How could her little sibling be inside her mama’s belly? How did it fit? It did not make any sense to the littlest Lannister, but she had a feeling it never would. 

“ _I_ want a brother,” Cersei demanded, rushing over to join her other two siblings by their mother. Jeyne thought it was just because Cersei wanted things to be even, but later she’d learn that wasn’t the case at all. The eldest Lannister girl did not share what was hers, and indeed she was already resentful enough that Jeyne managed to steal into Jaime’s affections. Another sister for her to contend with would have been far too much. At the moment, though, Jeyne did not understand things like envy or rancor, and even once she did the memory remained untainted by any of them. When she is older, Jeyne will look back on that day and reminisce over the days when everything was bright and warm, and she knew nothing but joy. It is a well known fact that Lady Joanna would die on the birthing bed, her last breaths taken with the thick stench of blood and sick clinging to the air. Soon, little Jeyne would learn all about pain, sorrow replacing the sun as her most constant companion. She would not need to go out to the ocean in order to feel the sting of salt on her cheeks, nor would she be able to ignore the hatred in her elder sister’s eyes. Her days would be spent surrounded by as much misery as gold. She would near drown herself for all of her weeping, choking on the endless stream of tears that would pour from her eyes. She couldn't drown, though, not with her father and Jaime holding her hands.

It is true that Jeyne Lannister learned many things from her father, most of them not particularly admirable. The Lannister clan had never been the model of a functional family unit, and Tywin was far from a perfect father. And yet, it should never be said that Jeyne lacked love, for while she endured her fair share of tragedy, her childhood was filled with more joy than grains of sand on the beach, and more love than there are stars in the sky.

 


	3. Sunset

It was often said that the best part of Tywin Lannister died with his wife, but Jeyne knew that wasn’t quite true. Many of his good qualities - most, if she were to be honest with herself, though she never had much of a habit of doing that - did, but not all of them, and certainly not the best. Perhaps Jeyne was just fooling herself, clinging to an idealistic, childlike vision of who her father was, but throughout her life she maintained the belief that her father was a good man (or if not a good man, then a good father) before and after her mother died. He became a harsher, colder man after the death of his wife, any trace of gentleness that Joanna had imprinted upon him vanished from his personality. That was not the best of him, though. Say what you will about Tywin Lannister, but there was not a soul who would dare think that he did not love his three eldest children. That was the best of him, and it survived Joanna’s death. There were moments when it did not seem like it, or when the strength of it seemed to falter, but Tywin Lannister always loved them. 

Remember that.

* * *

"Jeyne,” Jaime whispered, while Cersei roughly shook her shoulders, “wake up!” Both of her siblings were clad in their nightclothes, a doll hanging from the crook of Cersei’s arm.

“Why?” she asked, perhaps a bit too loudly, as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

“Shhh!” the twins hissed as Jaime clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“You have to be very quiet, we’re not supposed to be awake,” Cersei explained. She exchanged a glance with Jaime, who removed his hand from her mouth.

“But why are we awake?” Jeyne persisted, careful to keep her voice down. She knew Cersei and Jaime were often awake past their bedtime (they weren’t nearly as sneaky as they thought they were) but they hardly ever came to get her. They said she was too little and wouldn’t do anything but make noise, so she was left behind. A sudden thrill went up her spine. Did the twins finally think she was old enough to go on adventures with them? 

“The babe is coming, that’s why,” her sister stated, “quickly, we’re going to Jaime’s bedroom, it’s much closer to Mama and the babe.”

Her new brother or sister was coming! The sliver of excitement caused by the twins’ arrival was quickly replaced by all-consuming joy. They had been waiting for what seemed like all of eternity for the new arrival, and now they were actually here! It took every ounce of willpower in Jeyne’ little body not to explode with happiness. Biting back a squeal, she hurried past her door which Jaime held open. The trio tiptoed their way through the halls, jumping whenever the old castle creaked. Finally, Cersei gingerly opened the door to Jaime’s room and the three children barreled in.

“What do we do now?” Jeyne asked softly, plopping down on the edge of Jaime’s bed. 

“We wait,” her sister responded, “and we listen.” 

“Wait? We’ve been waiting forever,” the littlest Lannister pouted, her shoulders slumping. The moons must have turned thousands of times since Mama’s big news, and she had waited extremely patiently (looking back, an older Jeyne would realize that was not true at all) and now Cersei was telling her she had to wait even more? She didn’t think she could handle the anticipation. Jaime seemed to share her opinions on the matter, throwing himself down on the bed beside Jeyne. 

“Stop it, you’re behaving like children,” Cersei scolded. Jeyne didn’t think it was fair of her sister to say that - they were children, after all, - but she had learned very quickly that any thoughts that went against Cersei’s should be kept to herself. “Besides, we aren’t just going to sit here. We’re close enough to the birthing room to hear the maesters if we listen closely. That way, we’ll know when the babe comes, and then Mother and Father can’t be angry with us because they’ll be too happy about the new babe.” Jeyne pondered her older sister’s words for a moment, grudgingly admitting the sense of them. She still wasn’t pleased with the waiting, but she supposed she could tolerate it if it meant she got to see her new brother or sister sooner.

* * *

 “How much longer?” Jaime whined, banging his head against the door frame. “it didn’t take nearly this long when Jeyne was born.” 

A frown marred Cersei’s otherwise perfect face. “I don’t know, but if you two don’t stop complaining we won’t be able to hear when the babe finally does come.”

“The two of us? Jeyne’s been sleeping for at least an hour.” He cocked his head towards their youngest sibling, who, sure enough, was sound asleep against Jaime’s pillow.

“I told you it was a bad idea to bring her. She never does anything except cry and sleep,” Cersei spat.

“s’not true,” the little girl slurred, awoken by the arguing, “I do lots of things, like-“

“Shhh” Cersei hissed, cutting her off, “listen!” 

The three siblings scrambled to press their ears against Jaime's doorframe. Jeyne should have known that something was wrong when Cersei didn't immediately try and shove her to the floor, but at the moment she was too preoccupied with trying to make out the words being spoken on the other side of the door to realize it.

"... hideously deformed, I'm afraid," a male voice - no, it was Maester Creylen - said. But what did that mean? She knew hideous meant ugly, so it couldn't be about Mama, since she was the most beautiful lady in the whole world. But it couldn't be the babe either, not if her new sibling looked anything like Mama, and they all did. And what did deformed mean?

"And Lady Joanna? How is she?" another voice inquired. Jeyne was easily able to recognize it as Uncle Kevan, but why did he sound so frightened?

"She is... not doing well, my lord. The birth was difficult, and she lost a lot of blood. We are doing our best for her, but it is unlikely that she will survive the night."

"Cersei?" Jeyne warbled, her lips trembling "w-what does that mean?" She was lying, of course, she knew exactly what that meant, but she was very little and Cersei said that she was also very stupid, so she must have gotten it wrong, she had to have. Cersei would know what it really meant, she knew everything, she'd tell her how foolish she was, and of course Mama would be fine, wouldn't she?

Cersei did not answer, but one look at her sister's face was enough for her to know that was not the case.

"S-She'll be alright," Jaime replied in an attempt to comfort his sister. Even at four years old, Jeyne heard the tremor in his voice and knew he did not mean it. 

Jeyne knew that they were supposed to be quiet, and if not Papa would be very angry if he found out they were there, but she no longer cared. Yes, she was frightened of her father's anger, but not even an entire hoard of Dothraki screamers could have kept her away from her mother. Jeyne pushed against the door with all of her strength, her little body trembling with the effort. It didn’t make any sense for it to be that heavy, the door was wooden - _oh._ Far above her head, beyond her reach, Jaime had locked the door.

“Jaime, unlock it, Mama’s sick, we have to go see her!” She cried, tugging on the edge of his nightdress. Jaime stood as still as the door, his face ashen. “Didn't you hear me? We need to get to Mama! Please Jaime, open it!” Wordlessly, Jaime grabbed both of her arms, dragging her as gently as possible towards the other side of the room. “Let go of me, Jaime, let go! Stop it! Mama!” the little girl thrashed, kicking and screeching until she ran out of breath. Jaime turned to face Cersei, a mixture of heartbreak and desperation on his young face. She nodded through her own tears and took Jeyne into her arms. Cersei might not have had their mother’s eyes, but her arms were warm and safe, and Jeyne allowed herself to pretend they were Mama’s. The two girls’ sobs mingled in the air, a duet of the very worst kind. While Jeyne's entire body trembled, Cersei's arms remained steady. 

Cersei might have constantly teased, mocked, and belittled her little sister, that much was true. But before envy got in the way, Cersei was Jeyne’s sister. While a powerful motive for hatred, jealousy was not so powerful as to destroy love. Her sister was always there, when it counted.

* * *

_“Joanna Lannister died in the early hours of the morning in the year 273 AC at the age of six and twenty. She was survived by her lord husband, Tywin Lannister, one and thirty, and her four children, Cersei, seven, Jaime, seven, Jeyne, four, and Tyrion, hours old (hideously deformed, unlikely to live past infancy).” -_ The Book of House Lannister

* * *

“Out.” Tywin demanded. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled. “OUT!”

Joanna’s hand was limp in his, her blood still warm. Her husband did not weep. The lion grieved silently, roaring without making a sound.

* * *

Father was very, very angry. When Cersei and Jaime were angry, they’d scream and say mean things, but Papa’s anger was different. He was very quiet, and he didn’t say much at all. Papa hadn’t so much as spoken to her since Mama died, so Jeyne figured he must be extremely angry with her. Cersei was angry too, but at the new babe instead of Jeyne. She asked her why, to which her sister replied, “He’s a monster, Jeyne. He _killed our mother._ ” Jeyne didn’t understand how the babe could have killed Mama, but if Cersei said it then it must have been true. If Father was angry at her, did that mean he thought Jeyne was at fault for killing Mama? 

Jeyne was not angry, but she wondered if she should be. It seemed to be how everyone else was feeling, anyway.

* * *

“Aunt Genna?” Jeyne asked, “Is Papa angry at me?” In the wake of Joanna’s death, Genna had channeled her grief into action, taking on a motherly role for her nieces and nephews. Jeyne loved her Aunt Genna - really, she did - but she was a poor substitute for her mother. Her voice was not as soft, and her touch, while warm, didn’t have the full extent of Mama’s love behind it. 

Genna looked up from Jeyne’s curls, discarding her hairbrush to the side. “At you? Heavens no, child, of course not at you. Why in the world would you say such a thing?” Jeyne’s chin wobbled, which seemed to suffice as an answer for her aunt. “Oh, darling, I know it must not seem that way at the moment, but your father loves you very much.”

“B-but why w-won’t he speak t-to me?” The little girl cried. Nothing made any sense anymore. Mama was gone, Cersei and Jaime were too busy being sad to comfort her, Papa was angry, and nobody seemed to have any answers for her.

“You know that your Papa loved your Mama very much.” Jeyne gave a watery nod in response. “He misses her a lot, just like you do.” Jeyne knew that already, but it didn’t explain why he was angry. People are sad when they miss someone, but Papa didn’t seem sad at all. “Sweetling, do you know what it’s called when you miss someone after they die?” Jeyne shook her head. She didn’t know the name, but she knew the feeling much too well. “It’s called _grief_ , and people express it in many different ways. Sometimes, they’re sad, just like you are. Sometimes they take their pain and channel into work, because it helps them take their minds of things. Other people drink, to take the pain away entirely. Some people mix up all sorts of different kinds of grief. And, sometimes, people get angry.”

“But _why_?” It didn’t make _sense._ She didn’t do anything wrong, so why were bad things happening to her? Was it because she didn’t eat all of her vegetables at dinner last week? She remembered Septa Elys said that the gods punished us for our sins - was this what she meant? Was it her fault that Mama died?

“People have always had a drive to understand things, cub. We like things to have nice, neat explanations, and we don’t like it when that isn’t possible. Your father is angry because he does not understand why such a horrible thing happened to him and his family, so he is trying to explain it in a way that makes sense to him. It’s very difficult for people to accept that sometimes terrible things happen to good people like your mother for no reason at all. So, they come up with reasons of their own. I’m not entirely sure who your father is trying to blame, but I want you to know that what happened to your mother was nobody’s fault. It was not you, or the gods, or your baby brother, or anything of the sort. And even if anything was at fault, your father does not believe that it is you. Do you understand, poppet?”

“Y-yes, Aunt Genna.” 

“Darling, has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like your mother?” Genna asked. Jeyne nodded, but she didn’t understand why it was relevant. “Whenever your father looks at you, he can’t help but see your mother. That makes him sad, and then he gets angry. He’ll get over it soon, but for now that’s the only reason why your father seems to be ignoring you. He is _not_ angry at you.” Jeyne understood why her father wasn’t speaking to her, but even then, she did not think it made it alright.

* * *

Joanna was buried on a cloudy day. Jeyne didn’t think that was right. Mama loved sunsets the most, so it only would have been right for her to be buried under the most beautiful one in the world. But then again, she couldn’t see, so she supposed it wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway. Still, Jeyne thought a sunset was what Mama would have wanted. A lot of things about the funeral, Jeyne reflected, weren’t what Mama would have liked. For instance, she was stuck wearing the itchy black dress Aunt Genna had forced her to wear, despite the fact that Mama liked Jeyne best in gold. The flowers were wrong, too - they were lilies, but Mama’s favorites were roses. She should have expected it, with Uncle Kevan in charge of the funeral arrangements. He was a good uncle, but he didn’t know Mama very well. It shouldn’t have hurt, either - little things like lilies were never very important to Jeyne or her mother - but every time she saw something her mother would have hated it felt like a blow to her stomach.

Cersei seemed to agree with her, scoffing every time the Septon got something wrong in his eulogy. Jeyne hadn’t seen Cersei cry since the night Mama died, and indeed, she did not weep at the funeral. She kept Aunt Genna’s words close to her heart, and understood that even though her sister didn’t cry, she was still hurting. Jeyne wanted to be upset with her for blaming little Tyrion - Aunt Genna had said it wasn’t his fault, and she was starting to trust her aunt’s words more than Cersei’s - but she couldn’t, not when she knew her rage towards their brother was just pain reflected in a different form. Jaime, on the other hand, was trying his best not to cry, but Jeyne heard his sniffles and knew that he was hurting too. It was all they seemed to do, those days.

Papa was with them too, but he showed no emotion at all. His face was stoic, unmoving save for the occasional blink. Jeyne thought she could see past her father’s mask the same way she saw through those of her siblings, but was too afraid to look. It was frightening not to know what she might find once she peeled it off. She tried not to look at him, but the alternative was far worse. Mama’s body was spread out on a slab - a very ornate slab, but a slab all the same -, stones covering the place she knew Mama’s eyes used to be. It was the worst sort of pain imaginable, to look at not-Mama (for it was not her mother, just a body, that much she was certain of) and see lips that would never kiss her cheeks again, or hands that would never again hold hers. Were those cold limbs really the arms Mama used to hold her with? How could those limp, lifeless strands have ever been Mama’s flowing curls? The only stones on her body were covering her eyes, but Jeyne thought the rest of her might as well have been made of stone as well. No, that body could not be her mother. Even then, Jeyne knew that our skin and bones did not make us who we are. Cersei and Jaime looked exactly alike, save for the length of Cersei’s hair, yet they could not be more different. That body could not be Mama, not without the warmth of her laugh or the love in her heart. She wondered if Papa saw that too when he looked at Mama’s corpse. Aunt Genna had said that Papa was angry because he wanted someone to blame, but Jeyne thought that perhaps it was just easier than being sad. Suddenly, she wondered if there was anyone to take care of Papa after Mama died. Jeyne, Cersei, and Jaime had Aunt Genna, but who did Papa have? _He has me,_ Jeyne decided. 

Jeyne took her father's hand, and despite what she expected, he did not let go.


	4. Mother's Mercy

Little girls are born believers, but cynics are made. It would surprise many people that both Cersei and Jeyne Lannister were devout as children, though it was far easier to believe that only Jeyne would maintain her piety. Life would soon burn the stars out of Cersei’s eyes, but Jeyne would hold on to hers for far longer. Most of her childhood would be spent in Winter, but she was a Summer child if there ever was one.

Jeyne was very young when her mother died, young enough for her to recover relatively quickly. She missed her mama, of course, more than anything. Nothing was the same as it was, but she would adjust quickly. She had Aunt Genna, who did her best to ease the pain and loved her just as a mother should. She would never fill the gap Joanna left, but it wouldn’t feel quite as large as it would have without her. The pain of losing her mother was severe, but it was not crippling. Jeyne would adjust. Cersei’s wounds, however, would take much longer to heal.

Cersei was never cruel until her mother died. She was jealous, power-hungry, and spiteful, yes, but never truly horrible. She teased Jeyne mercilessly, and wasn’t particularly kind to the servants, but she was a child. She had the makings of a cruel adult, but she was not one, not yet. Even when she did become one, Jeyne never blamed her - if she were to be honest, she pitied her. Cersei was not born cruel, but life was not kind to the eldest of Tywin's children. She was nothing if not a Lannister, and the Lannisters always paid their debts.

It was not easy to be Tywin Lannister’s eldest daughter. He was a good father who loved his children deeply, but nobody could ever claim that he was kind. Cersei didn’t mind. She never knew her grandfather, but she did know that his kindness had almost destroyed their house. Father taught her better. Kindness was a tool, a weapon to be used when necessary, but only in certain situations. Childrearing was not one of them. He did not spare her the falsehoods that Mother used to tell her to make her feel better, no matter how harsh the truth was.

“You must always keep your composure,” he had told her, just days after her mother died, “Lannisters of Casterly Rock do not weep, nor do queens. It is a sign of weakness, and that will not be tolerated, neither by your subjects nor yourself.” Cersei did not yet have a crown of her own, but she felt its weight nonetheless. Still, she did her best to heed her father's words, and she did, for the most part. She did not cry in front of her siblings or her father, and on nights when Melara or Jeyne shared her bed she was careful not to cry until they were fast asleep. She knew it would be best if she didn’t have to weep at all, but it was never of her own volition. Whether or not she wept, however, mattered little. It did not take Cersei long to learn that what counted was not who she was, but what others perceived her to be. She could cry all she wanted so long as she never let anyone else hear. If she had to reduce herself to weakness, at the very least she would do it when nobody could see.

It was no wonder that after her mother’s death Cersei Lannister was drawn to the sept. It was peaceful there, and there was little risk of her being interrupted - Father and Jaime never visited, and Cersei would time her visits for when Jeyne was having her afternoon nap. The sept became Cersei’s solace. She found refuge in the stained glass light of the seven and comfort in the deep, vaguely floral smell of incense. Every afternoon, she knelt before the stone statue of The Mother. It looked like Mother, if she squinted, but the likeness was not so strong as to upset her. Cersei would always offer her prayers, but never a candle. No, Mother didn’t need one - candles were lit for the dead, but Mother would come back. Cersei knew it. During every one of her daily visits she would ask (Lannisters did not beg, not even to the gods) to bring her mother back to her. 

“Please,” the girl would whisper, “I’ll stop teasing Jeyne and skipping my lessons, just please bring my Mother back.” 

The gods had not listened yet, but they would, one day. No one was so much of a fool as to deny the wishes of a Lannister, not even the gods. Until then, Cersei would just have to keep asking. Lannisters, after all, did not take no for an answer. 

For weeks, Cersei would spend her afternoons praying to the gods, determined to get her mother back by sheer force of will. However, her sole source of refuge was not truly so - the septon’s loyalties were with the gods, but Tywin Lannister was close enough to one that the difference mattered little. It did not take long for a septon to notice that she had been spending an unusually large amount of time in the sept and promptly report his findings to her father. 

Tywin was nothing if not a dutiful father, and quick to rectify any wrongs his children committed. As soon as he heard the septon's news, he swiftly made his way to the sept to put a stop to his daughter's foolish behavior. He stood a few feet away from Cersei, looming in the shadow of The Father. Cersei did not notice, her eyes closed as she prayed.

“I won’t ask you for anything else ever again if you bring Mother back, I promise,” Cersei begged, a stray tear sliding down her cheek, “Please, I just want my mother back, have _mercy_ -“

Tywin Lannister stepped out of the shadows. His cheeks were hollow, and his face was so grave that for a second Cersei believed that he was The Stranger himself. 

“The gods have no mercy,” The Lord of Casterly Rock said, “that’s why they’re gods.”

“The mother’s mercy-“

“Your mother died giving birth to your brother. Tell me, where was The Mother’s mercy then?” 

She did not answer. Tears burned behind her eyelids, but she did not dare let them fall.

“Depend on no one, Cersei, but especially not the gods. They will disappoint you every time.”

"Yes, father." She replied. The eldest Lannister was not so much a fool as to disobey her father. From that moment on, her faith would lie in the strength of her house, not the gods. She would never pray again.

**************************************************************

Cersei was not the only Lannister who spent time in the sept. Jeyne would visit as well, though she did not understand the faith as well as her sister. Cersei had spent enough time in her lessons to know the rituals of prayer, but Jeyne was not due to begin learning for another year. Instead of lighting a candle, the little girl would bring her mother gifts. Sometimes it was a flower she had picked on her way to the sept, or a particularly round pebble from the cliffs of The Rock. Other times she would come with a fresh lemon cake she had “stolen” from the kitchens (the cook let her have them, but Jeyne thought she had been stealthy enough to make Cersei proud), or a leaf that was as green as her mother's eyes. Then, she would talk animatedly about her day, occasionally telling on her siblings for whatever mischief they had gotten into. Jeyne would tell her mother all about what games she had played with Jaime and give her updates on how baby Tyrion was doing. She knew that the statue of her mother wasn’t _Mama,_ but she figured if the gods were in heaven and so was Mama, they would be kind enough to pass on the message. She would have sent a raven if she was able to, but she didn’t think that even birds could fly that high. _Good,_ Jeyne thought, _Mama would like that, to be so high in the clouds that even the most agile of birds could not reach her. The sunsets_   _must be beautiful up there, and Mama loved sunsets._

Tywin was not ignorant of his youngest daughter’s visits to the sept, nor did he intend to let them continue. Jeyne would not be a queen, but she was still a Lannister. The girl had to learn the truth of things, and as her father it was Tywin’s job to relay it to her. Just as he had with Cersei, he followed her into the sept, listening to the girl ramble on and on to the statue. He moved to stop her, but he stood, frozen to the spot. Both Cersei and Jeyne had Joanna’s look, but only Jeyne had her eyes. Cersei’s, he knew, were sharp and cunning, just as his were. They would serve her well, especially now that they were no longer clouded with the delusions of the faithful. Jeyne’s, however, were soft, just as her mother’s had been, and his mother’s had before her. She was a girl of four, Tywin reasoned. She would learn, one day, but it could wait. In a year, perhaps, he would tell her, but not before. She had Joanna’s eyes, and Tywin could not bring himself to take the stars away from them quite yet.

Every year that went by, Tywin would swear that it would be the year in which he would tell Jeyne the truth. 

He never would.


	5. Little Brother

Jeyne had seen many parties arrive at Casterly Rock, almost all of them having been her father’s bannermen, but none had been as magnificent as when the Martells came to visit. She liked it well enough when various lords from the Wastelands came, as music, feasting, and new company were sure to follow, but it was nothing compared to the excitement of the Martell party. Jeyne had stood as still as she possibly could as Oberyn Martell rode into the courtyard on his sand steed, flanked by the guards and other men sworn to house Martell. She had never seen such a magnificent horse, nor anyone, save her father, with as much confidence riding one. Even more impressive than the sand steeds were the ladies exiting the wheelhouse, draped in silks of the most vibrant colors she’d ever seen. Jewels glittered from their heads, arms, fingers, and necks, radiating light from every angle. Princess Loreza was somehow even more striking than the rest, her fierce sense of pride more dazzling than any of Dorne’s jewels. Father had said she was friends with her mother when they were both in Queen Rhaella’s service in King’s Landing, but it took seeing Dorne’s ruling princess in person to understand why her mother was drawn to her. In truth, Princess Loreza's boldness reminded her of Papa, so it only made sense that Mama would love her as well. Princess Elia was beautiful too, but she did not shine in the same way her mother and brother did. During their first meeting, Jeyne would interpret her subtler manner as a lack of confidence, but by the end of Elia’s life Jeyne would understand that she had a quiet sort of courage that merited as much, if not more, respect than the loud pride that radiated off of the rest of her family.

After introductions were made, Jaime and Cersei were tasked with taking Prince Oberyn and Princess Elia to their rooms. Where her siblings went, Jeyne always followed, and soon the group was making their way into the castle. Cersei filled the walk with idle chatter, most of it surrounding the beauty of The Rock. Jaime was quiet, though Jeyne could tell he was itching to hear tales of Dorne (or their knights, most likely). Jeyne agreed, though it didn’t seem like the topic would change anytime soon. Prince Oberyn was doing nothing to discourage Cersei, asking her detailed questions whenever the conversation seemed to fall flat. Jeyne didn’t mind it; she liked the way he spoke. It was different from how everyone else she knew spoke, which made it special. The rolling, lazy, accent he used fascinated her to no end. If only Cersei would stop speaking so often! Oberyn only asked questions when she was done talking, which was a rare occurrence. He seemed to be genuinely interested in the existing conversation, but his questions were slowly veering from the topic of The Rock itself to its inhabitants.

“My condolences for the passing of your mother,” Oberyn stated politely (sincerely too, in Jeyne’s opinion). Both Cersei and Jaime stiffened at the mention of Mama, and Jeyne cast her eyes towards the ground. She’d almost forgotten to miss her that day, with all the excitement of their new Dornish guests arriving. She wondered if that was a good thing. Mama wouldn’t want her to be sad, but Jeyne didn’t think she wanted to be forgotten either. “By all accounts she was a good woman,” Oberyn continued. She was better than that, Jeyne thought, Mama was clever, and she had the most beautiful laugh in the whole wide world. The riches brought from Dorne were splendid, but there was no treasure more wonderful than her mother’s smile. No, Mama was not just a good woman, but the very best of them.

“Yes,” Cersei responded after a prolonged pause, “she was.”

“It is a shame that she passed on so soon. She died on the birthing bed, did she not?” Jeyne frowned. Suddenly she wished that Cersei would go back to rambling on and on about the splendors of Casterly Rock, anything to take the topic off of Mama. Jaime nodded in response. "She gave birth to a son before she died - Tyrion, isn't it?" This time it was Cersei's turn to nod curtly, uncomfortable with the path the conversation was taking. "Elia and I have heard-" Oberyn paused for a moment to exchange a glance with his sister, " _rumors_ regarding the infant's... physical deformities.” Cersei perked up at the mention of Tyrion's abnormalities. Her favorite conversation topic was the beauty of Casterly Rock, but an opportunity to insult her little brother was a very close second. 

“The rumors do not do him justice, my prince. He is not merely deformed. The babe - if you can even call him that - is truly a monster. Forgive me for not going into the details, but I don’t want to disturb Princess Elia.” _A monster?_ Jeyne thought _, that couldn’t be._ Truthfully, Jeyne hadn’t taken much interest in her new little brother, but she had seen him once or twice. Surely she would have remembered if Tyrion had been a monster like Cersei said. “I can show it to you later, if you’d like,” The eldest Lannister said, her voice dropping, “I’m not supposed to visit him very often - Father says it isn’t proper for a lady to look at such a monstrosity, but I know where the nursery is. When the nursemaid is occupied I can sneak us in, but we have to wait for the right time.”

“I am looking forward to seeing the famed monster of Lannister, my lady.” Oberyn replied. Jeyne thought she detected a hint of sarcasm, but she supposed it might have just been the accent. Cersei didn’t seem to notice anything, smirking in response to his words. The conversation shifted back to Cersei’s mindless chatter about their home. Oberyn seemed somehow less interested than before, but Jeyne didn’t take much notice of it.

Soon, the Martell siblings arrived at their rooms and the Lannisters headed back to their own. Most of the walk was spent in silence before Jeyne tugged on Cersei’s hand.

“Yes?” She asked, placing a hand on her hip.

“Is Tyrion a monster? Truly?” The little girl asked, a frown marring her face.

“No-“ 

“Yes,” Jeyne’s two siblings said simultaneously, both taken aback by the other’s answer. 

“He doesn’t _look_ like a monster,” Jeyne reasoned out loud, which earned her a glare from Cersei but a nod of support from Jaime. Her sister scoffed, lifting her chin higher in the air.

“There’s more than one kind of monster, little sister. This one murdered our mother.” Turning on her heel, Cersei fled from the hall, leaving her siblings in her wake. Jeyne doubted her sister’s words very much - Tyrion was only a babe, after all, he couldn’t have done it on purpose - but her sister had said it with such hatred in her eyes and conviction in her heart that for a moment she was tempted to believe it anyway.

* * *

 “Where is Princess Elia?” Jeyne asked her older sister. Throughout the visit, Elia had joined Cersei and her companions to sew. Jeyne had quickly taken a liking to Princess Elia and tagged along to the sewing sessions, despite not knowing how to handle a needle herself. She was content to sit and listen to Elia’s tales of Dorne. The Princess had a gift for words, weaving them into tales so breathtaking that Jeyne was mesmerized by every word. Much to her disappointment, Elia was not there, only her elder sister and her companions. 

“She does not feel well - Princess Elia’s health has always been delicate.” Cersei explained, not once looking up from her needlework. 

“Oh. Is her mother with her?” Jeyne remembered that Mama used to stay with her when she was feeling ill, and it always made her feel much better. She hoped that Princess Loreza would do the same for her daughter, as she very much wanted Elia to feel better.

“No, the Princess is negotiating with Father,” Cersei responded. Negotiating? What negotiations could be more important than her daughter’s health?

“About what?” Jeyne pressed on, tugging on the hem of Cersei’s sleeve. Her sister put down her needlework with a sigh, leaning in closer to her younger sister.

“You mustn’t speak a word of this to anyone.” Her sister’s voice had dropped to little more than a whisper, low enough that the other ladies couldn’t hear. Jeyne nodded eagerly, excited to hear what her sister had to say. “Princess Loreza is going to propose joining our houses in marriage - Elia and Jaime, Oberyn and I, or both of us.” 

Jeyne leaped up from her chair, her little mouth hanging wide open. Marriage? For Jaime and Cersei? That couldn’t be. Elia was far too old for Jaime anyway, and Cersei - well, Jeyne couldn’t come up with a reason why Cersei shouldn’t marry Oberyn, but she disliked the sound of it nevertheless. The little girl dashed down the hall, intending to head for her Father and Princess Loreza’s meeting room. She made it down several hallways before realizing that she did not, in fact, know where her Father was, which made stopping Cersei and Jaime’s future weddings a bit difficult. Frustrated, the four year old girl slumped against the wall, breathing quickly as she attempted to catch her breath.

“What’s got you in such a state, little lion cub?” Aunt Genna asked as she turned into the hall. 

“Is Cersei going to marry Prince Oberyn?” Jeyne replied, her lower lip trembling.

“What makes you think that?” Her aunt replied, kneeling down to be on the little girl’s level.

“Cersei said that father was s-speaking to Princess Loreza so t-that C-cersei would marry Oberyn, a-and Jaime would m-marry Elia - please, Aunt Genna, d-don’t let her m-marry him, she _can’t_.” Jeyne was sure that there were thousands of reasons why Cersei shouldn't marry Prince Oberyn, but the only one that ran through her mind was that she didn’t want her sister to be so far away. 

“Peace, child, don’t fret,” Aunt Genna soothed, tucking a strand of hair behind Jeyne’s ear, “Has anyone ever told you what your father did when my betrothal to Emmon was announced?” Jeyne shook her head in response. “Well then, let me tell it to you. Now, your Grandfather was a good man, and he loved us all very much, but he was also a weak one. Pleasing others was more important to him than the future of our house, so when Walder Frey, one of the Tully’s bannermen, proposed that I marry his second son he agreed, only to please Lord Frey. Can you imagine that, darling? The second son of a minor house for the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands! The Freys, of course, considered it more than a fine match, but from the perspective of the Lannisters it was an insult. Few considered Emmon a match worthy of myself, your father most of all. At all of ten years old, your father was the only lord present to say a word against the betrothal - and say it he did. Father went as white as the first snows of winter by the time your father was through with him. It did not stop the marriage, but from a very early age your father understood that Lannisters only settle for the very best, and more importantly the importance of standing up for your kin. It is true that Princess Loreza wants to marry her children off to your siblings, but your father will not let that happen.” The youngest Lannister girl let out a breath of relief. She knew her siblings would have to get married eventually, as would she, but it was nice knowing that her father would only allow their future spouses to be of the very best stock, and even more that discussion of their marriages would be put off for a later date. Jeyne had already lost her Mama, and there was nothing she feared having the rest of her family taken from her too soon as well.

“I’m glad, Aunt Genna. I don’t want Cersei to have to go so far away, not even somewhere as wonderful as Dorne.” Genna let out a laugh, running her thumb along Jeyne’s cheek.

“Don’t you worry, sweetling, your sister will stay right here for a very long time.” Her aunt’s eyes lingered on her face, softening as they met her own eyes. “You look exactly like your mother, but you really are your father’s daughter.”

Even at four years old, Jeyne knew that many of her father’s qualities weren’t exactly admirable, but she knew Aunt Genna meant it as a compliment, and Jeyne was proud all the same. 

* * *

Cersei, as usual, led the way to the nursery, Jaime, Princess Elia, Prince Oberyn, and Jeyne trailing behind her. It was the last day of the Martell’s visit, but it had taken until that point for the eldest Lannister to fulfill her promise to the Martells. Jaime and Jeyne knew the way to the nursery just as well as Cersei, but they hung back nonetheless. The unveiling of “the freak,” as Cersei referred to him, was her task and her task alone. Jeyne thought Cersei enjoyed being in charge a little bit too much, but she did not dare say anything. Instead, she followed the older children, doing her very best to keep up with their much longer legs. The walk to the nursery was silent - Jeyne thought Cersei orchestrated that for dramatic purposes, but she couldn’t be sure. It worked regardless, causing the anticipation to become tangible as the group headed towards Tyrion.

Finally, they arrived at the nursery. Cersei cracked open the door, peeping in to ensure that nobody was inside. Satisfied, the eldest Lannsiter closed the door, turning back to her companions. 

“The room has been cleared,” she declared, her voice several degrees louder than it needed to be, “and the freak is inside. Now, I must prepare you for the sight you’re about to see - it is not for the faint of heart.” Cersei stared right at Elia as she said so, causing the princess to bristle at the offense. Jeyne agreed that it was unreasonable for Cersei to assume that Elia was not brave enough. It was not the place of a seven year old girl to tell someone nine years her senior that she lacked courage. From the corner of her eye, Jeyne thought she caught Elia roll her eyes towards her brother’s direction, but it might have just been a trick of the light. “Do I have all of your words that you will not be frightened by such a gruesome sight?” 

“I understand that things might be different in the Westerlands, but in Dorne we are not in the habit of being frightened by children.” The Princess’s voice took on an acidic tone, which Cersei pretended not to hear. Instead, she ushered the group towards the door, swinging it open.

“Here,” Cersei began, sweeping her arm in a grand, dramatic gesture, “lies The Monster of House Lannister.” Hesitantly, the other four headed towards the babe’s cradle, peering inside. it was the first time Jeyne had seen her little brother in several moons, and she had to admit she was shocked by what she saw. She hadn’t seen very many babies before, but he looked almost exactly like all of the other ones she had seen. His little limbs seemed too small for his body, but other than that he looked like nothing less or more than a babe. A rush of guilt went up her spine. She had ignored Tyrion, her baby brother, for moons, and for what? He was just a babe, he couldn’t have done anything to harm their mother. She remembered Aunt Genna had told her it was important to protect her family, and she had ignored her little brother for almost his entire life. _I will do better, baby brother, I promise,_ Jeyne swore, peering into Tyrion’s cot. _I will protect you._

Prince Oberyn seemed to share her sentiments, scoffing as he looked at Tyrion. “That is not a monster,” he stated in his Dornish lilt, “That is just a babe.” A scowl crossed Cersei’s face as she made her way closer to Tyrion. 

“He murdered our mother, my prince. If that is not a monster, then I do not know what is.” She leaned in to pinch the babe’s tiny pink cock, the boy wailing in pain as she did so. Jeyne gasped, horrified by her sister’s cruelty. She knew Cersei hated Tyrion, but she didn't think it was enough for her to actually hurt him. For a moment, Jeyne was tempted to look away until Cersei finished, but the promise she made to her brother burned into her mind. He was her baby brother, and she _would_ protect him.

“Stop it, Cersei!” she cried, “you’re hurting him!” Cersei did not relent, instead pinching the babe harder. Jeyne looked up to Jaime for support, who nodded in response.

“She’s right, sister. He isn’t worth it, let go of him.” Scowling, Cersei released her hold on the babe and swiftly exited the room, the nursery door slamming behind her. The other three were not far behind, leaving only Jeyne and the sobbing Tyrion alone in the nursery. 

“Shhh,” she murmured, running a finger down her brother’s cheek, just like Mama and Aunt Genna did when she was upset. “She’s gone, baby brother, she can’t hurt you anymore.” The infant’s cries softened but continued. Jeyne winced with every one. Mama used to sing to her when she was sad - perhaps it would help Tyrion? Softly, she began to sing The Song of the Seven into her baby brother’s ear. Slowly, his cries stopped, his eyes shut, and the littlest lion fell asleep. “Sweet dreams, little brother,” she said with a kiss on the infant’s forehead. As quietly as she possibly could, she tiptoed out of the nursery, gingerly shutting the door behind her.

* * *

 If you asked when Jeyne Lannister became a mother, most would either tell you when the first of her husband’s bastards were brought to court on her orders or when she birthed her first son. But if you asked Jeyne herself, she would say that she became a mother at four years old, on the day she decided to love and raise her baby brother when no one else would. 


	6. Queen of Words and Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tywin Lannister never dreamed that Jeyne would ever really need his lessons in politics, yet she turned out to be his child that needed it the most. He was right when he told her that she’d never pick up a sword, but Jeyne was a fighter. One day she would become the Queen of Words and Whispers, ruling all of the seven kingdoms with nothing but her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! First of all, I'm so sorry this took so long. Originally I posted chapters as I wrote them, but I decided to finish the entire story before I posted anything. Also, there's been a bit of a time jump in the story. Cersei and Jaime are now 10, Jeyne is 7, and Tyrion is 3. Thank you so much for being so patient, and I hope you enjoy!!

Jeyne was cutting Tyrion’s food into tiny, child-sized pieces (he hadn’t quite mastered the knife yet) when her father cleared his throat. The four Lannister children snapped to attention, the meals in front of them forgotten.

 

“You have heard the news from King’s Landing, I trust?” Jeyne, along with all three of her siblings nodded in response. Word of Prince Viserys’s birth had reached Casterly Rock just days before Father did. Truthfully, Jeyne had little interest in the royal family aside from her father’s work there, but she was glad for Queen Rhaella. Word of a new prince or princess came often, but never had it arrived without news of their deaths following shortly afterwards. Cersei didn’t believe that Prince Viserys would last more than a year, despite the accounts of the little prince’s robustness. Jeyne would have agreed, but Papa had said it himself that the child was as healthy as he’d ever seen. Papa had never been wrong, leaving Jeyne with no reason to doubt him in regards to Prince Viserys. “Good. Now, as Hand of the King, I will be hosting a tourney at Lannisport in honor of the prince’s birth.” A tourney? How wonderful! Jeyne had never been to one, and certainly not one hosted by her own father. Oh, it was going to be magical!

 

“Can I ride, father?” Jaime asked eagerly, “I’ve been training with Ser Benedict, I can fight-“

 

“Don’t be silly Jaime, you can’t. Everyone knows that children aren’t allowed to joust,” Cersei retorted. She was doing an excellent job of masking her excitement, but the corners of her mouth were turned slightly upwards, and her eyes were shining like the sun on the sea.

 

“I’m not a child, I’m _ten -_ “

 

“You _can’t -_ “ Cersei began, interrupted by the sound of her father clearing his throat. The two bickering siblings were immediately silent.

 

“You may enter the lists if you’d like, Jaime,” Papa stated simply. Jeyne waited for him to continue. Papa would never let Jaime, his golden heir, joust in a tourney at such a young age. He would lose, he could get _hurt,_ surely Papa knew that. Seconds passed, and Lord Tywin said nothing.

 

“I-I can?” Jaime asked after a minute had passed, his voice incredulous.

 

“You heard me, boy. You may joust if that is what you wish to do. It is a great honor, to joust against the finest knights of the realm.” He cut himself a slice of meat, seemingly oblivious to his children’s shock. Cersei’s mouth was hanging open, Jaime was blinking at an abnormally quick rate, and Jeyne’s eyes kept darting back and forth between Jaime and her father, sure that she must be missing something. “The entire kingsguard will be fighting in the lists, you know. Ser Barristan Selmy, Lewyn Martell, even the sword of the morning himself - all fierce competitors. Jaime, you’ve heard tales about tourneys, haven’t you?”

 

“Yes, father.” Jaime responded. Jeyne had heard the tales too, of handsome knights in their glittering armor and the fair maidens whose favor they wore. She’d heard stories of the great feasts, tales of the glory found in the lists, and listened to songs of courtly romance with stars in her eyes. It had been at a tourney where Prince Aemon the Dragonknight fought for his sister’s honor, crowning Naerys as the queen of love and beauty. She couldn’t blame her brother for wanting to fight in one - if she were a boy, with a sword thrust into her hand instead of a needle, she thought she’d want to fight in the lists as well.

 

“You have been told about the deaths, then? Lances struck to close to the heart, nasty falls from horses, that sort of thing. It happens quite often, you know, especially when boys are foolish enough to challenge men that they cannot defeat.” Father paused, taking in Jaime’s expression. The boy had turned white, causing Jeyne to believe that he hadn’t heard those tales either. Her father’s lips turned upwards ever so slightly in the corners, a smug expression that made Jeyne think that perhaps he had known that all along. “Never engage in a fight that you cannot win,” Tywin stated. “That goes for all of you, not just Jaime. If you have a choice, which, more often than not, you will, only pick the battles that you are certain will end well for you. Fighting is an excellent pathway to wealth and glory, but only if you are smart about the ones that you pick. Is that understood?”

 

Jaime nodded, ashamed. “I don’t want to fight in the lists, father,” he admitted.

 

The boy’s father didn’t smile, but the slight nod of his head was enough to convey his approval to his son. Cersei seemed to have accepted it too, but Jeyne was still confused.

 

“But Father, Cersei and I are ladies, and Septa Elys says that ladies aren’t allowed to have swords. Why do we need to be smart about battles if we’re not going to fight in them?” Jeyne asked, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

 

“There’s more than one kind of battle, Jeyne. It is true that you will most likely never pick up a sword, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t be fighting. There are wars that are fought with words and whispers alone, battles of diplomacy and intrigue that you will one day find yourself in the midst of,” Tywin explained, his tone slow so that Jeyne could understand, but still as sharp as ever.

 

Wars fought with words? The whole concept seemed silly to Jeyne at first, but the more she thought about it the more the pieces started to fall into place. Her near constant arguments with Cersei were wars, too, but with words instead of weapons. It was just like Papa said! And little Tyrion was fighting the whispers of all of Casterly Rock - why, he must be as brave as any knight to do that! She opened her mouth to proclaim her brand new proof of how her little brother wasn’t inadequate (Septa Elys had taught her that word last week) at all, but one glance at her father dissuaded her. She loved her Papa, but he didn’t love Tyrion. His whispers were the sharpest of all, and Jeyne knew that just like Jaime, there were battles that she couldn’t win. But how could she stop trying to protect her brother just because she knew that she would never fully be able to? She couldn’t just leave him to fend for himself! There seemed to be no solution. Papa had never been wrong about anything before, but she had to keep Tyrion safe. Suddenly, an idea popped into Jeyne’s mind. Knights have to train before they win tourneys, so that meant that she could learn how to fight in her own battles. All she had to do was get better at using the words and whispers that Father had told her about, and then her fight would become something that she could win! _Jeyne Lannister,_ she thought, _The Knight of Words and Whispers._ It had a nice ring to it.

 

“Papa?” She asked, her wide green eyes staring up at her father.

 

"Yes?” He replied, his tone slightly impatient.

 

“Could you teach me how to win the wars you were telling us about? The ones with words?” Tywin raised an eyebrow, incredulous. Jeyne had always lacked Cersei’s competitive streak. Winning was never much of a concern for his youngest daughter, and he had been certain that she would make a poor student of politics. She cried whenever she squashed an _insect_ , for the sake of the seven. She simply didn’t have the mindset to be an effective politician. But she was also a girl of seven, young enough that these things could still be taught. Truthfully, he didn’t want her to change. She was Joanna’s daughter, through and through, and he wanted nothing less than to destroy the last piece of his wife that he had left. He supposed that he didn’t have to teach her everything, and that she could be firm without losing her kindness.

 

“We’ll start on the morrow.” He replied.

 

* * *

 

Tywin Lannister never dreamed that Jeyne would ever really need his lessons, yet she turned out the be his child that needed it the most. He was right when he told her that she’d never pick up a sword, but Jeyne was a fighter. One day she would become the Queen of Words and Whispers, ruling all of the seven kingdoms with nothing but her tongue. It is highly unlikely that she would have been capable of becoming such an influential queen without her father’s tutelage. But it could also be said that without her will to protect her baby brother, the Baratheon dynasty would have crumbled and Daenerys Targaryen would have reduced all of Westeros to ash. Love, it seems, has the power to save kingdoms, and none knew it better than Queen Jeyne herself.


	7. Power and Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had thought that she was Joanna reborn, but without her mother’s ferocity. But the more he thought about it, the more he saw that he had been wrong. Jeyne did have Joanna’s temperament, but she had his mind. Out of all of his children, it might be her who best deserved to carry on the Lannister name... Little dove indeed, he thought. His daughter would soar to high places, of that much he was sure.

Jeyne thought that she might burst with excitement. Her first lesson with Papa was today, and the tourney was only a few weeks away! She held back a squeal as well as she could as she headed down the corridors to her father’s rooms. It took almost all of her willpower to keep from skipping all the way there, but Septa Elys _and_ Cersei had told her that it wasn’t ladylike to skip. Father would never have agreed to give her lessons if he didn’t think she was mature enough to receive them, and she couldn’t risk her lessons being revoked if Papa decided that she wasn’t as mature as he had thought she was. Concentrating on keeping her pace slow and her head held high, just like her septa had taught her, she moved through the castle until she finally made it to Papa’s rooms.

Father, she’d learned, liked her better when she was gentle. Aunt Genna had sighed when Jeyne had asked her why and simply told her that all fathers liked it when their little girls were sweet. But her aunt’s eyes didn’t quite meet hers when she said it, which made Jeyne think that she wasn’t telling the whole truth. Mama was always gentle, from what Jeyne remembered of her, so she was almost certain that he liked it when she acted more like her mother. It was all so confusing - sometimes it made Papa angry when she was too much like Mama, but other times it made him kinder. It didn’t make any sense, but nothing really had when it came to her father after Mama died. He was steadier before, or perhaps he was just more open to his family. Still, who he was before didn’t matter all that much. In that moment, all that mattered was the lessons. She could not disappoint Tyrion. Jeyne had to be  _perfect_ , and she would be. There was simply no other option.

Slowly, she lifted her hand to knock on her father’s door. Each tap was soft and gentle, loud enough to be heard but not a notch more. A moment passed before she heard the faint squeaking sound of a chair being pushed into a desk. The sound of her father’s footsteps followed soon afterward, each one growing progressively louder and more imposing as he got closer. His footsteps sounded like thunder, which was fitting. When Father stood, the entire world seemed to tremble. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, he pulled open the door.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, he pulled open the door. Jeyne immediately sunk into a curtsy, with her head bent towards the ground just like Septa Elys had taught her. Usually, she didn’t have to curtsy to Papa, but she figured that it wouldn’t hurt to do so just in case.

“Jeyne,” he greeted, “come in.” She didn’t look up from her curtsy in time to see the grin he was trying his best to hide, but she didn’t need to see it to know that it was there. She had to bite back a grin of her own at the sheer relief of having pleased him. The little girl followed her father into his rooms, her eyes drifting as she took in her surroundings. She had only ever been in her father’s rooms a few times. Jaime and Cersei had been much more, though, a consequence of their constant trouble making. Father’s rooms were for private conversations and punishments, and thankfully Jeyne had never habitually received either of them. The last time that she’d been there was two full years ago, right before she had started her lessons. Father had given her a talk (Cersei would have called it a lecture, but Jeyne rather liked listening to her father speak) about the sort of behavior that was expected of her now that she was old enough to attend her lessons. It didn’t last very long, only about an hour, and Jeyne was proud to say that she had only squirmed a little bit. Now, though, she knew that she wouldn’t squirm at all. She was much older now, and the subject matter was far more important. Father had yet to start the lesson, but Jeyne was already paying rapt attention.

Although she had been there before, Jeyne was always a little surprised by the austerity of her father’s rooms. Everything was made of very fine materials, more exquisite than what Jeyne had in her own rooms, and nobody could claim that the daughter of Lord Lannister’s rooms were anything short of luxurious. But there wasn’t _much_ in Papa’s rooms either. There was just a bed, deep crimson with gold accents, and his desk made from what must be the finest wood in the seven kingdoms. The only decoration was a rug underneath his bed, but even that could be seen as a practical item. Stone floors grow awfully cold against bare feet, after all. There were no tapestries in Father’s rooms, nor any other form of decoration that might show his personality. Everything was impeccably neat, too. The only sign that anyone lived there at all was the stacks of papers on her father’s desk. Mama, Jeyne remembered, used to keep a vase of flowers next to the bed. There were none of those now. “Sit,” Tywin commanded, gesturing towards his desk chair. Silently, Jeyne obeyed. It felt strange sitting in Papa’s chair, the same one he used while he wrote letters and decrees to send to his vassals, received reports of The Rock’s military power and finances, and engaged in other business that Jeyne knew little about. It was only a chair, made of wood instead of metal (iron, if she was to be specific, and father had always said that specificity was important), but it was Father’s. By that merit alone it felt as if she were sitting on a throne, for anything that belonged to her father was so closely tied to power that it might as well belong to the King himself.

“The first thing that you need to know if you are to hold any sort of political authority is that in order to be powerful, you must first act as if you _were_ powerful. Men are foolish creatures. Power is in the hands of whomever they believe has it, understood?” Father had wasted no time before beginning his instruction. Jeyne was not surprised. Papa always went straight to the point. Was that something he did to act powerfully? Her father’s advice seemed sound, but Jeyne wasn’t sure  _how to_ act powerfully in the first place. She was only seven, which Cersei insisted was practically the same as being a baby. Even for her age, she was a little thing - that was what all of her dressmakers said, anyway. Not like Papa, who was so tall that Jeyne had to stretch her neck to look him in the eyes. He was sharp, formidable, and everything that she would never be.

“Yes, Father. But…” Jeyne started to ask a question, but changed her mind halfway through the sentence. What if Papa thought she was stupid? He refused to waste time before beginning one lesson, why would he waste hours on a silly little girl who couldn’t learn? Tywin raised an eyebrow. “Speak up, daughter. You cannot expect to learn if you don’t ask questions, just as you cannot win wars of words if you do not speak them.”

Jeyne lowered her head, ashamed. She’d already failed him, and she’d only been at her lessons for a few minutes. How could she expect to protect her brother if she couldn’t even impress her father? Still, she knew it was best to learn from her mistakes instead of wallowing in them. “But Father, _how_ do I act powerful?” She asked, her dark green eyes wide.

The corners of her father’s mouth turned upwards ever so slightly, but enough for Jeyne to know that he approved.

“There are many ways to do that. Let us take your arrival for an example. A powerful man - or woman, in your case - would have knocked on the door sharply and loudly.” Tywin strode over to his desk and rapped on it three times, each one just as he had described. “There, you see? Purpose and authority can be conveyed with nothing but a knock on a door. When you knock like that, you are are demanding to be let in, not simply asking. You, on the other hand, did the exact opposite. You conveyed doubt. In doing so you handed over all of the power in that situation to me,” Father explained. Jeyne frowned. His reasoning made sense, but something seemed wrong. How could she give father power if he was the one who had it in the first place? Besides, if she had done that, wouldn’t he have been angry? Then she’d end up with far less power than she had before!

Father must have sensed her uneasiness with what he’d said. “Do you not agree, Jeyne?”

She shook her head. “You said that you would teach me how to win,” Jeyne began.

“That I did. Is my instruction not to your satisfaction?” Father was egging her on now, Jeyne was sure of it. He was saying angry words, only he didn’t sound truly upset at all. But what did he want?

“No, Father, of course not. But that would only work for you, or people like you.”

“Because?”

“Well, let’s say… let’s say I wanted a new dress, from you. If I demanded it, like you said, then you’d be angry with me and I would never get the dress, because you’d think that I was being horribly impolite and greedy. But if I was to ask nicely, like how I knocked on the door, then I’d have a chance to receive it. Not acting powerfully can make you lose power that you already have, but you can’t actually get _anything_ just by pretending that it’s there. Isn’t that right, Father?” Jeyne asked, praying that Father wouldn’t be angry.

“You’re cleverer than I thought, little dove. You are absolutely right. I lied to you about the most important lesson - I wanted to see if you would catch on. The real first lesson is to _know your place_. Tell me, have you ever played cyvasse?”

Jeyne nodded her head in response, glowing with pride as she did so. “I play with Cersei and Jaime, sometimes, whenever one of them doesn’t want to.”

“Good. Now, if you look at it the right way, politics is not much more complicated than a game of cyvasse. A game of thrones, if you will. Of course, the consequences of losing are far greater than when you play with your brother and sister, but the principles are the same. You cannot take anyone’s pieces if you don’t know where your own are. Likewise, you cannot expect to gain anything from other people if you do not know where you stand. I can teach you different strategies for the general sort of people that you will come across, but it is up to you to judge where you stand in relation to whomever you are dealing with and select the best strategy from there. Just like you said, you would use very different methods to get what you want from me than you would from a stableboy. From now on, I want you to think about that whenever you meet someone. Figure out who they are in relation to you as soon as possible, and use that information to your advantage. Plenty of good men have died because they did not know their place or because they acted in spite of that knowledge. Be careful not to make the same mistake. Is that clear?” Father asked, the same way he had when he had spoken to Jaime the night before. He had a specific voice he used when he was passing on wisdom, and Jeyne found that she rather liked hearing it.

“Yes, Father,” she answered dutifully. It was the tone of a daughter who knew her place well, and she was sure that her father was proud.

“Excellent. That will be all for today. I’ll be busy preparing for the tourney during the next few weeks, but we will have more time for lessons afterward. I trust that you are capable of waiting until then?” Jeyne simply nodded in response. “Then you are dismissed.”

Tywin’s eyes followed his daughter as she left, watching her lower herself into a curtsy more graceful than he’d ever seen from her. He supposed they might have been that way for a while now and he just hadn’t noticed. In truth, he hadn’t ever paid as much attention to his youngest daughter as he did to the twins, which he was now realizing had been a grave mistake. He had spent so much time figuring out the best ways to utilize his golden twins for the future of his house that he had overlooked Jeyne’s potential. She had always been his gentle girl, the compliant one. He had thought that she was Joanna reborn, but without her mother’s ferocity. But the more he thought about it, the more he saw that he had been wrong. Jeyne did have Joanna’s temperament, but she had his mind. Out of all of his children, it might be her who best deserved to carry on the Lannister name. Had she been born a boy she would have made a fine heir. But that was not her lot in life, although it had caused Tywin to rethink the part of it that he could assign. His daughter would be happy married to one of his bannermen, but perhaps she could be more useful elsewhere. She would make a far better queen than Cersei, of that much he was certain. But she was ten years younger than the prince. The age gap wasn't unheard of, but King Aerys would never stand for it, not when she had a more beautiful and, more importantly, much older sister to offer instead. Jeyne would be the better queen, but Cersei had a far greater chance of becoming one in the first place. Perhaps, though, he could negotiate a betrothal with the Baratheons of Storm’s End. Their heir was unbetrothed, as of yet, and anyone would be a fool to turn down a Lannister bride. His Jeyne would be the Lady of Storm’s End, not to mention the wife of the King’s cousin. _Little dove indeed,_ he thought. His daughter would soar to high places, of that much he was sure.

* * *

 

“Cersei?” Jeyne asked, taking advantage of a rare opportunity to get her sister’s attention. They were in the midst of another sewing lesson, which meant that Cersei would be desperate for any distraction from her work, even if it was her annoying little sister.

“What is it?” She replied. They were the words of someone thoroughly irritated, but Jeyne could see right through her sister’s farce. She was pretending, just like she’d learned about with Father. Ever since her first lesson she had become far less sensitive to Cersei’s cruelty, now that she knew it wasn’t real. The older Lannister girl was trying to act as if she were better than the younger because she thought that it would _make_ her better. But it wouldn’t. Jeyne had thought so before, but now she saw her sister for what she was. Cersei was just an insecure little girl who wanted to feel powerful. Jeyne had always thought Cersei was so _different_. She was sharper and brighter than Jeyne had ever hoped to be, and more confident and beautiful than anyone would ever expect quiet little Jeyne to ever become. But her sister wasn’t sharp or bright or confident at all. She just knew how to pretend, and she wasn’t even _good_ at it. She was cruel because she was afraid of being weak, and arrogant because she lacked the very confidence that Jeyne had assumed that she had an abundant supply of. Everyone said that they were like the sun and the moon, but they were both just little birds trying to be lions.

“Have you noticed anything strange about Jaime?” Jeyne inquired. 

“No, of course not,” Her sister replied. Her words came out far too quickly, and something that looked a lot like fear flashed across her beautiful face. “Why do you ask?”

“Ever since Mother died, he’s been… different,” The littlest lion began, easing her sister into the conversation.

“So? _Everyone’s_ been different, you idiot. Besides, Mother died three years ago. Why are you suddenly worried about Jaime now?” Cersei visibly relaxed as she switched from being defensive and returned to her usual aggressive state. Jeyne didn’t care, really, so long as that was where she was more comfortable.

“That’s my point, Cersei. It’s been three years, but he’s still acting funny. He’s just been so... confident. _Too_ confident. He used to be so quiet before, don’t you remember? And now he’s demanding to ride in tourneys! It doesn’t make any sense at all,” Jeyne explained.

“Courage is something to be proud of, little sister. So what, he’s a little braver. Why would that worry you?” Cersei scowled.

“I told you, it’s too much. Nobody changes that much in that little time unless there’s a reason.” Jeyne was trying to appeal to her sister’s senses, but it didn’t appear to be working.

“Obviously there’s a reason! How stupid can one girl get? In case you don’t recall, it wasn’t exactly _easy_ losing Mother -”

“Of course it wasn’t, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“Then what are you saying? I don’t see a _problem_ , Jeyne. We all went through a horrible experience and Jaime became braver afterward. It’s natural,” Cersei all but shouted, exasperation seeping through her words.

“Father said that some people act powerful when they aren’t because they want to have power. He said that it’s foolish because you can’t get something just by pretending hard enough that you have it.”

“I don’t see how this has anything to do with Jaime,” Cersei responded petulantly.

“I think that he might be doing the same thing. Except instead of power he’s pretending to be brave -”

“Are you saying that you don’t think Jaime is brave on his own? He’s thrice as brave as _Father_ , and only The Seven know how much braver he is than _you,_ ” Cersei sneered, her eyes flickering up and down Jeyne’s figure in an attempt to intimidate her.

“No, not at all. I just think that he also might be afraid, but nobody _knows_ because he’s covering it up. That’s why it all seems to be too much, because it is. I told you, I’m worried, that’s all,” Jeyne responded, trying her best to placate her sister. She didn’t want to make Cersei angry, she just wanted to make her see how silly both of her older siblings were being. Her sister didn’t have to pretend to be horrible, she was already strong on her own, just as Jaime was brave. If only she could make her see!

“You’re worrying over nothing. Go on with your sewing, you’re wasting both of our breath.” Cersei demonstrated by picking up her own embroidery hoop, viciously stabbing her needle into the fabric and doing her best to ignore Jeyne.

“Aren’t you scared, Cersei?” Jeyne pressed, unable to give up on her sister. Cersei didn’t even look up from her sewing. “I know I am. It's alright if you are too, you know. Sometimes I think that you say cruel things because you’re afraid of being weak, because you don’t want people to know that you can be kin-”

“How dare you suggest that? I’m _not_ afraid, little sister, not of anything, and you would do well to remember that.”

“It doesn’t mean that you aren’t brave just because you’re afraid. Besides, even if you’re not, I want you to know that you don’t have to be scared with me. I’m your _sister_. You can trust me. I already know how smart and brave and beautiful you are, you don’t have to try and impress me. Please, Cersei, we don’t need to pretend with each other. Don’t you get it? We’re all that we have now. Mother is gone, and Father and Jaime will never be able to understand what it’s like to be a lady. We need to be able to rely on each other, or else we have no one,” Jeyne pleaded, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She had hardly known Mother, but she missed her so much. Everything was so lonely now, and she couldn’t bear it if her own sister turned her back on her. Cersei met her plea with silence for what seemed like hours. Just as the younger Lannister girl was losing hope, Cersei set down her sewing.

“Are you proposing an alliance?”

“No? I mean… yes, I am. Proposing an alliance, that is,” Jeyne responded. An alliance? They were sisters, not armies. But they _had_ been at war, Jeyne supposed, the sort of wars with words that Father was teaching her about, and all she wanted was to make peace. It didn’t matter what label Cersei put on it, so long as they could be friends.

“Then I accept your proposal,” Cersei decided. She was stiff, but not cold, which was as much of a victory as Jeyne could have hoped for. The younger sister beamed, resisting the urge to envelope her sister in a hug that she knew Cersei wouldn’t appreciate. She might have lost her mother, but she now had her sister back. For the time being, it was enough for the both of them.


	8. Everything She Held Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aye. Queen you shall be… until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take everything you hold dear"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! First of all, thank you so much for your patience waiting for this chapter. My family was affected by Hurricane Harvey, which is why I haven't been able to devote any time to this story. Enjoy the chapter!

Jeyne smoothed out her skirts as she sat down in the wooden stands next to Cersei. Aunt Genna had ordered new dresses to be made for both of them for the tourney, beautiful things made of deep crimson silk and gold brocade. Today Jeyne had picked out her favorite of the three she had received, a gold gown embroidered with myrish lace and pictures of little birds flitting around her sleeves. The color matched Cersei’s, a vivid red that Jeyne’s gold gown complemented perfectly. That was how it was meant to be, Jeyne thought. Father had told her to know her place, and it was by Cersei’s side. The least she could do was look the part.

“Jeyne,” Cersei whispered as she nudged her shoulder, “stop daydreaming, the fighting’s about to start!”

“Oh,” Jeyne replied. Truthfully, she wasn’t excited for the actual fighting part of the tourney, at least not compared to the rest of it. The glimmering city of Lannisport, the sumptuous feasts, the fashion, and meeting the Lords and Ladies that she had only ever known by name before was all more than enough to excite her. There were parts of the lists that she was looking forward to, of course. She wanted to know which ladies gave which lords their favor, and she was sure the crowning of the queen of love and beauty would be interesting. _Perhaps_ , she thought, _if Uncle Gerion wins he might crown me!_ Surely if she was to be made a queen, even if it was only of love and beauty, then she would make her father proud. She would look lovely with a crown of roses on her head, deep red like Cersei’s dress. The thought, however, vanished as quickly as it came. Even if Uncle Gerion won, he would never crown her, not while she was sitting beside beautiful Cersei in her bright red dress, the sort that was made to be seen. Jeyne tried not to be disappointed. A crown, she decided, would look far better on Cersei than her anyhow. Besides, when Cersei triumphed Jeyne did too. She was supposed to be happy for her, and when it was Jeyne’s turn in the sun Cersei would return the favor. That was what it meant to be sisters, according to Aunt Genna. Jeyne found it a little odd that it was her telling them that, considering that she only had brothers, but she kept quiet.

Cersei, oblivious to Jeyne’s disinterest, continued to speak. “Prince Rhaegar himself will ride in the lists, you know. He’s just been knighted, and everyone says he’s an excellent fighter.”

“He isn’t an excellent fighter,” Jaime cut in, a sour expression on his face, “a good one, maybe, but not excellent. He doesn’t even like fighting, Father said so. He can’t be a really good fighter if he’d rather read books or play his stupid harp.”

Jaime was sitting to the right of Cersei, which only served to make Jeyne aware of the absence of Tyrion by her side. Jeyne was close to all of her siblings - Cersei was her only sister, and little girls always adore their big brothers - but Tyrion was her special favorite. Jaime and Cersei had always had each other, and she had little Tyrion. If he had been there, he would have sat to her left. He wasn’t, though. Half of the royal family, among plenty of esteemed guests, would be at the tourney, and all of their eyes would be on their Lannister hosts. Tyrion, Father had said, was far too much of an embarrassment for him to attend. Surely her Papa, the second most powerful man in The Seven Kingdoms, (the most powerful, really, but she felt guilty even thinking so with King Aerys sitting right across from her) did not have a reputation so weak as to be destroyed by his wide-eyed son of four, even if he was a little small. She had wanted to tell him that, to scream, weep, and rage like Cersei would have, but she knew that no good would have come of it. Father, she knew, did not take insults lightly. All that might have come from it was her father’s anger and a night or two without supper. Not to mention her lessons - those all would have been revoked as well had she gone through with it.

She knew that it would have done Tyrion more harm than good in the end, but she still felt horribly guilty for not doing more. She wished she was older. If she were a woman grown she might have had a chance. Mama never had to sit quietly and keep her mouth shut. If she were alive Jeyne never would have had to look her sweet baby brother in the eyes and watch the laughter fade from his eyes. No, Mama would have scooped Tyrion up and sat him in the stands before Father could have had anything to say about it. Her brother would have been happy. They _all_ would have been happy.

Sometimes, Jeyne understood Cersei’s rage. Not the fact that it was directed towards Tyrion - he hadn’t done anything, after all - but she could understand why she was so angry all the time. She used to think that being sad was better than being angry, and she still did, but she understood why her sister didn’t think so. Being sad wasn’t so different from waiting. Sad people just weep and wallow in their grief, waiting for things to get better. Angry, though, is when you intend to do something about it. The thing about being angry is that it never works. Cersei’s fury towards Tyrion couldn’t bring Mama back, after all. It was better to wallow than to wound, but Jeyne understood why Cersei was so angry, even if she didn’t approve of it. Being sad felt so much more helpless, and Jeyne didn’t know how much longer she could bear it. Trying to distance herself from sad thoughts, she turned her focus back to her siblings.

“You’re just jealous because Prince Rhaegar’s in the lists and you aren’t,” Cersei spat as she crossed her arms.

“I’m not jealous of the stupid prince.” Jaime muttered, mirroring Cersei’s movements with his own arms. Cersei, clearly displeased by her conversation with Jaime, turned to Jeyne.

“He’s handsome, you know,” Cersei glanced around before leaning in closer to Jeyne so that she could whisper in her ear, “Father says I’m to marry him, and Aunt Genna said that our betrothal will be announced during the feast closing the tourney. I’m going to be Prince Rhaegar’s queen, Jeyne. Isn’t that wonderful?” Jeyne froze. Cersei couldn’t be queen, not _really_. Cersei had been talking about becoming queen for years, but Jeyne never thought that it would happen so soon. She couldn’t bear to be moons of travel away from her sister. Who would she match dresses with if Cersei wasn’t there? Who would she share her bed with, whispering about princes and gowns and all of the latest gossip from around the kingdom? Sometimes, Cersei would even tell her stories about Mama, little things that Jeyne had been to young to remember. On other nights they might talk about how Cersei was afraid that she would never be queen after all, or how they were both afraid that Father would send Jaime away to become a squire soon. Jeyne liked her best then. Cersei was more honest, more real once there was no longer anyone for her to impress. No threats, no gossip, no reputations, just the two of them. _That_ was what it meant to be sisters, Jeyne thought, and Rhaegar Targaryen was going to take that away from her.

Part of her wanted to tell Cersei that she couldn’t marry the prince, that she was not going to let her. But that was what her sister wanted, more than anything, and Jeyne did not want to take away her joy.

“I’m happy for you, Cersei. You’ll be the most beautiful queen, I know it.” Jeyne had been unsure whether she would have been able to get the words out of her mouth, but once she did she found that she meant them.

“Not just beautiful, little sister. Powerful. My son will be king, and I’ll get to do whatever I like. Even Father will have to do what I say,” Cersei boasted, smirking. The words didn’t ring quite true to Jeyne. Queens were still women, and women had certain duties. Her septa had taught her that. Ladies had to obey their fathers and their husbands, even queens. Besides, even the king couldn’t tell Father what to do. Cersei certainly could not. “When I’m queen you’ll be free to marry whatever man you please.” Her sister paused for a moment, a spark lighting up in her Lannister green eyes. “Who would you like to marry, if given the choice?” Truthfully, Jeyne had not thought much about it. She had always rather liked the idea of marrying Adam Marbrand, Jaime’s friend with bright red hair and a smile to match. Jeyne didn’t know him very well - whenever he did speak with her it was to tease her - but he seemed kind, if a little cocky. But most importantly he was a bannerman, powerful enough that Father might approve of the match and close enough to home for Jeyne to be able to visit whenever she liked. That was all she wanted, to be safe, happy, and close to home. The last point was the most important, however. She knew what it was like to be left behind, and she refused to do the same to the rest of her family, even if they thought it was for the best. Jeyne opened her mouth to answer, but Jaime beat her to it.

“Will you two stop talking about marriage? It’s boring.” Cersei scowled in response, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she turned to look at him.

“It’s _important_ , Jaime. Both of our marriages will determine our entire futures, and none of us have any inkling of who Jeyne might have in mind,” Cersei turned back to Jeyne, taking her sister’s hands in her own. “So? Who do you want to marry?” She pressed, her eyes still shining. Jeyne wished that she found it as exciting as her sister did. Of course Cersei, the golden lady who would soon be a golden queen would be thrilled about the prospect of marriage. The wealth, status, _power_ \- it was everything that she had ever dreamed of. It was different for Jeyne. The highest ranking man she could hope for was the heir to the lordship of another one of the seven kingdoms. Lord Edmure Tully or Lord Robert Baratheon seemed to be the best candidates, although Jeyne guessed that Lord Robert would be the most likely out of the two. The Tullys did not descend from Kings, after all, and had a reputation for being among the least powerful out of all seven of the great houses, with the exception of the Greyjoys. Given the choice between the two, it wasn’t difficult to figure out which her father would select. It was all just guessing, of course, but it was rather likely. Jeyne didn’t know much about Lord Robert, only that he was handsome and said to be a good fighter. He seemed to be the sort of man from the songs, strong and brave like he should be. Father would certainly think him a match worthy of his own daughter. Sometimes, Jeyne wondered if she would be happy with Robert Baratheon. She didn’t see why not - she had no reason to believe that he was unkind - but she did not want him like she knew Cersei would think she should. Marrying Robert would allow her to keep her high status as the wife of a Lord Paramount was just as high ranking as the daughter of one. It would just be more of what she already had at home, but without Father and the twins and sweet little Tyrion. What would happen to her little brother if she left for the Stormlands? She shuddered to think of her clever little brother all alone with nobody left who loved him. No, she could not marry Robert Baratheon, or any other lord that her father might have in mind for her. All she wanted was to stay with her family, the ones she loved, and to keep her little brother safe and happy for as long as she could.

Luckily, she was saved from having to answer her sister by the sound of the trumpet signaling the beginning of the tourney. She listened as Jaime and Cersei chattered about the fighters, betting on who would win. The twins were both enraptured by the jousts, while Jeyne watched passively, rooting for no one. She liked the idea of knights in their shining armor but knew little about the art of fighting. Two men charging at each other with sticks didn’t seem to be interesting at all to her, and certainly not anything to write a song about. _Real_ chivalry was how a lord behaved towards a lady, not how good they were at stabbing others. She ached for the feast to start, so she might meet some of their visitors and maybe even dance a little before Father made her go to bed. For now, though, she resorted to burying her head in Cersei’s shoulder whenever a knight was knocked off their horse and praying it would end soon. Blood had always made her feel squeamish, even small scrapes on Jaime’s knees. It made her think about war and Mama, bleeding out on the birthing bed, and all manner of horrible things that she did would rather not dwell on. Cersei called her a cowardly babe for it, but it was better than having to see some poor man’s blood staining the ground.

The exception to her rule, however, was when Prince Rhaegar began his first joust. By reputation alone she knew that Prince Rhaegar would win the fight - the knight he was fighting against was robust, but Jeyne had never heard rumors of his talent as she had about the prince’s - but she was curious to see the man that Cersei held in such high regard for herself. His face was hidden by his helm (which did, Jeyne admitted, shine rather brightly), but even from the stands, Jeyne could make out a pair of striking violet eyes behind it. They were beautiful, if she were to be honest, if a little bit sad. She glanced over at Cersei, who had leaned forward the second he rode onto the field in his unmistakable Targaryen armor. She seemed to be captivated by those violet eyes, so engrossed in them that Jeyne was sure that she’d would have to physically drag her sister away to get her to stop staring at him. Jaime, it appeared, wanted to do just that, judging by his unusually sour expression.

Jeyne was somewhere in between her two older siblings, as she usually was. She did not share her sister’s feelings, but she understood them. Although his face wasn’t visible, he rode his white horse with the sort of easy grace that reminded Jeyne of how she had always pictured Florian in the songs, and he _was_ rather handsome. It wasn’t difficult to see why Cersei was so enraptured by her silver prince, even if Jeyne didn’t feel the same.

She wasn’t surprised to see that his graceful movements extended to his fighting as he swiftly knocked the poor Crakehall knight off of his horse. The entire crowd exploded into uproarious applause (all except for Jaime, of course), Cersei even standing up with elation. Jeyne had never before heard cheers so loud, not even for her popular Uncle Gerion.

“It wasn’t even a good fight,” Jaime muttered from his seat, but Cersei pretended not to hear.

“That was well fought, wasn’t it Jeyne?” Cersei said as she sat back down, slightly flushed and beaming from ear to ear.

“Yes,” Jeyne replied mildly, amused by her sister’s utter silliness, “it was.”

The tourney continued on, Prince Rhaegar winning victory after victory. He even defeated Uncle Tygett _and_ Uncle Gerion (or at least that’s what was announced since Jeyne couldn’t bear to look), who until recently Jeyne had thought were the best fighters in the entire world. She had thought that perhaps the cheers would grow quieter after the novelty of him fighting wore off, but they only grew louder for each round that Prince Rhaegar won.

Jeyne had been sure that he would lose against Ser Barristan the Bold, but even that had not been the case. Jaime had been outraged, claiming that Ser Barristan threw the match on purpose. Ser Barristan seemed honorable, from what she'd heard, and she didn’t think that he’d do such a thing. By the time the final round came around, Ser Arthur Dayne against Prince Rhaegar, Cersei looked like she was about to burst. _That_ was a fight to write a song about, The Sword in the Morning against a skilled Targaryen prince. For her sister’s sake, she hoped that Prince Rhaegar would win, but if it weren’t for her she would have supported Ser Arthur. It was said that he was the truest knight currently living, and while Prince Rhaegar fought well, she knew little of his honor. With bated breath, every woman, man, and child in the stands watched as the two famed knights fought. Jeyne listened more than watched, hearing the beat of the horses' hooves and the sharp clang of metal as the two men charged towards each other. Over and over again they would charge, each man missing their targets by a thread until finally Prince Rhaegar was knocked off of his horse with a sickening thud. Cersei gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth as she leaned closer to get a better look. Jeyne joined her, examining the Prince lying on the ground. He wasn’t bleeding, which she supposed was a good thing, but he wasn’t moving either. Jeyne prayed that the prince would live, that Cersei would not be in pain. Her own dreams would not come true, but there was nothing she wanted more than for her sister’s to. _Gentle Mother_ , Jeyne prayed, _don’t let Prince Rhaegar die. Please, do not take him from my sister. Please, please, please._

After the most agonizing thirty seconds of her life, Prince Rhaegar lept to his feet. Cersei visibly relaxed while Jeyne muttered a silent prayer of thanks to the gods. Her sister’s relief, however, did not last long, her joy fading into disappointment as quickly as it came.

“Do not worry, Cersei,” Jeyne murmured, taking her sister’s hand, “once you’re married you’ll be crowned Queen of Love and Beauty so many times that you’ll run out of space to keep all of your flower crowns. Besides, you’ll have a real crown, which makes this one seem rather silly in comparison, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Cersei agreed, though Jeyne could tell that she was still upset, “soon enough whatever girl Ser Arthur crowns will wish she was me. Still, that crown was made for _my_ head - quite literally, I suspect. Look at the color, Jeyne.” She peered at Ser Arthur Dayne, who, after helping Prince Rhaegar to his feet (indeed, he truly was gallant enough to be deserving of his victory), had been handed a wreath of crimson roses for his queen. “They’re red,” Cersei stated, which Jeyne thought rather obvious. She knew that she wasn’t as beautiful or clever as her sister, but she knew what color roses were. “ Lannister red. Do you really think Father cares a whit about the birth of Prince Viserys? He put together this entire tourney to ensure my betrothal to Prince Rhaegar, and that crown was supposed to belong to me.”

“Cersei, do not say such a thing so loud!” Jeyne whispered, shocked by her sister’s audacity. Even if it was true (and although she hated to admit it, she knew in her heart that it was) it was not the sort of thing she was supposed to say out loud. Her impending coronation was making her sister bold - too bold. She was not queen yet, and even Jeyne was not oblivious to the rumors about King Aerys’s growing madness. At best he would be furious if he heard that coming from his hand’s daughter’s lips, and at worst it was treason. Jeyne did not wish to think about what that entailed.

“I can say what I like, little sister. We don’t need to be afraid of the dragons anymore, not if I am to become one of them,”

“You won’t if King Aerys hears what you said,” Jeyne pointed out.

“And how would he find out? Do you intend to tell him?” Cersei smirked, mocking her. Jeyne glanced around, making sure that nobody was watching.

“Father says that he’s paranoid,” she told Cersei, her voice barely audible, “he must have spies. If I were a king, and if I was as mad as him, I’d have the best spies available in my service, and a lot of them, too.”

“It’s a good thing, then, that you are not king.” 

“It would be an even better thing if you were queen. This is what you want, Cersei, more than anything, which means that I want it, too. I know it isn’t my place, but I wish you’d be a little more careful. I don’t want you to lose your dream.” She didn’t understand how her sister could be so careless. If Jeyne had been allowed to marry who she wanted she wouldn’t dare do anything that might throw her chances away. It almost made her angry. She didn’t think that Cersei appreciated what she had enough. Her future was perfect and secure, and she would risk it just to have the last word.

“It isn’t a dream. It’s _reality_. What, do you doubt that I’ll marry the prince? Do you think I’m not worthy?”

“No! Of course not, Cersei, that isn’t what I’m saying-”

“Then prove it. Before the feast, I’m going to visit Maggy the Frog, the woods witch. You’ve heard about her, haven’t you?” Jeyne had heard of her - she didn’t know anyone who hadn’t - and thought her rather frightening. She was a cackling old witch with sharp, yellowed teach and warts covering her wrinkled body. Nothing good ever came of witches - why did her sister want to go see her? And why did it have anything to do with her sister’s marriage? “I was going to take Melara, but she’s dull and silly like the rest of those insipid girls Father insists I keep in my company. You’re dull, but not silly, and I trust you. Come with me, and maybe I’ll believe your claims that you have my best interests in mind.”

“But why do you want to see her at all? She’s a _witch_ , Cersei, it’s too dangerous!” Jeyne begged.

“Maggy can use blood magic, which means that she can tell the future. If I ask her she’ll tell us when I’ll marry Prince Rhaegar, and if you truly want me to marry him then you’ll want to know too.” Jeyne did not know what to do. It wasn’t safe to wander around in the woods, especially now that evening was fast approaching.

“Father will be furious if he finds out,” Jeyne pointed out, trying to make her sister see reason.

Cersei laughed, but it wasn’t her pretty one - it was more of a bark, really, forced rather than mirthful. “I’m not afraid of Father.” Jeyne knew she was lying. _Everyone_ was afraid of Father. She said nothing, though. “And he won’t find out. He’ll be busy all afternoon, it isn’t often that so many lords are all together. If we time it right, he’ll never find out.” Jeyne bit her lip. She wasn’t stupid, no matter what Cersei said, and if she was then she was an idiot who knew her sister. There was no stopping Cersei once she made up her mind, and she would go to Maggy the Frog no matter what Jeyne said. Her sister was right, it was not her place to tell her what to do. It was to love her, which by Jeyne’s standards meant that she couldn’t let her go alone.

“When do we leave?” Jeyne asked, glowing with pride when Cersei smiled just for her.

* * *

 

The girls had been walking through the woods for more than an hour, their skirts trudging in the mud as they went. Jeyne was growing impatient and becoming more and more certain that they would never even find Maggy’s hut. She didn’t like the way the trees cast shadows wherever they went, or the foggy mist that settled at their feet. It didn't feel right, and besides, she was cold and wet and wanted very much to go back to Father and her tent. She ached to leave, especially since she hadn’t wanted to come in the first place, but all it took was one glance at her sister’s face to erase any idea of that from her head. Her sister had only grown more determined as they marched on. Cersei wasn’t afraid of anything, even when she should be, and the only thing worse than having to face Maggy was the thought of her sister doing it on her own. So Jeyne trudged on silently, her hand grasping Cersei’s as her sister led her to their destination.

“Do you see it?” Cersei asked, pointing to a spot in the distance. At first, Jeyne saw nothing, but if she squinted she could make out the faint outline of a hut and the warm glow of a fire within.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jeyne asked. _Say no_ , she thought, _Please say you won’t_. In the end, Cersei said nothing at all, instead just continuing to walk as she pulled Jeyne after her.

After a few minutes, the two sisters reached the hut, pausing at the entrance. Jeyne glanced behind her, knowing that it was her last chance to turn back. She might have done it, too, but Cersei had already started pushing open the flaps of the hut and it was too late. She followed her sister in, her nose immediately wrinkling at the scent. It was tangy and metallic, reminding her a little of the stench at Mama’s funeral. It was more than enough to make her want to run, but the rest of the hut was even worse. All sorts of strange herbs were hanging from the ceiling, ingredients for potions that could do horrible things. Even the fire, which was supposed to be warm and comforting was menacing. It cracked and cackled, dancing as if it were preparing to swallow them both whole. Nothing, though, was more frightening than Maggy the Frog herself. She was even uglier than Jeyne had imagined, hook-nosed. sharp-toothed, and with sallow skin hanging from her bones. She did not want to look afraid - Cersei had told her that lions should not be afraid of frogs - but she could not help but shiver at the sight of her. Jeyne’s eyes caught one of the little doves on her sleeve, and not for the first time she wished that they were lions.

“Begone,” the old woman croaked, and Jeyne certainly had no problem complying. Cersei would mock her, she knew, but she wanted nothing more than to fly away. She glanced back at Cersei, wordlessly pleading for her to run. She didn’t listen.

“We came for a foretelling,” Cersei said, twisting a statement into a command in the way that only her and Father could. 

“Begone,” the old woman repeated, unconvinced by Cersei’s tactics. Suddenly, Father’s words popped into Jeyne’s heads. Different wars needed different strategies, and perhaps her sister’s display of power was not the right one. If they were kinder, then Maggy the Frog might be more likely to give Cersei what she wanted.

“We’re very sorry to intrude, and we did not mean to disturb you. My sister would very much like to see her future - she’s been promised to the prince, you see, and she’s very anxious to know what her life as queen might be like. She’d be very grateful if you told her, and the thanks of a future queen is quite valuable, you know.” Father, Jeyne thought, would have been proud.

The old witch paused, thinking it through, before speaking. “Come, then,” she held out a knife for Cersei to take, “Your blood, little girl. Give me a taste.” Jeyne’s emerald eyes widened at the sight of the blade, though Cersei only faltered a little before swiping it cleanly across her thumb.

“Here,” Maggy croaked, beckoning her closer with that awful crooked finger of hers, “give it here.” The older girl obeyed, holding out her thumb for the witch to suck. “Three questions you may ask,” she said after she drank her fill. “You will not like my answers. Ask, or begone with you.” What did she mean? Cersei was the most beautiful girl in Westeros, the future _queen_. Her future was going to be as golden as her hair, everyone knew that.

“When will I wed the prince?” Her sister asked, her chin held high in the air. Jeyne wasn’t surprised by her sister’s first question - she had never been very patient - but she did not want to hear the answer. _Not soon_ , Jeyne prayed, _let her stay with me at least for a little while longer_.

“Never,” Maggy began. For the first time, Cersei looked truly afraid, and Jeyne froze. “You will wed the king.” A self-satisfied smirk returned to her sister’s face, her confidence restored. Jeyne too was pleased - King Aerys was young enough, which meant her sister would not leave her for a little while yet.

“I will be queen, though?” Cersei asked.

“Aye. Queen you shall be... until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take everything you hold dear.” Maggy’s filthy yellow eyes shifted slowly until they struck Jeyne’s. Her gaze was sharp and full of ill-will, and Jeyne wanted nothing more than to shrink away from it. What did she mean? Surely it wasn’t true. There was no one more beautiful than Cersei, and even if there was she couldn’t imagine her sister letting anyone take anything from her. That enough was cause for concern, but then there were Maggy’s eyes. Why would she look at her? She had nothing to do with this part of the prophecy, not unless - no, it couldn’t be. She loved her sister, fiercely. Her place was by her side, not underneath her crown. She didn’t even _want_ to be queen. It didn’t make any sense! Jeyne glanced towards her sister, praying that she hadn’t noticed the shift in Maggy’s vision. If she had, she showed no signs of it, preoccupied with the witch’s words.

“If she tries I will have my brother kill her,” Cersei retorted, venom seeping through her words. Would she really? Jeyne wanted to believe that her sister wouldn’t kill her, but she wasn’t an idiot. Jeyne had said it herself time and time again. Becoming Queen was what Cersei wanted more than anything else in the entire world, even more than she wanted a sister. Mostly, though, Jeyne wanted to believe that Cersei would find no reason to kill her in the first place. The younger girl would not harm her sister. She would _never_. Maggy’s gaze was nothing more than a badly timed coincidence, that was all. “Will the king and I have children?” Cersei asked, stubborn to the end. She shouldn’t have asked any more questions. Maggy said that she wouldn’t like the answers, she _warned_ her, and yet she stayed. And even after hearing all of that, her sister still wanted to hear more. This was pure madness. Jeyne wanted to grab Cersei by the arm and run, to force her out of the hut before more ill tidings came from that awful woman’s mouth, but the little dove could not seem to find her wings. 

“Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you,” The witch answered.

“Please, Cersei, let’s leave -” Jeyne began to plead, finding her voice, but was cut off by Maggy the Frog. “Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds,” she cackled.

“ _Cersei_ -”

“Quiet,” The older girl commanded. She sounded more relieved than authoritative, glad to have at least Jeyne enter back into her sphere of control.

“And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.” _Valonqar?_ She wanted to ask the witch what it meant, but she was torn away by Cersei’s voice, cold and ragged like a blade that hadn’t been well crafted.

“We’re leaving.”

Jeyne reached for her sister’s hand to guide her as they fled from the hut, but her touch was knocked aside. Although her sister was only a few strides in front of her, the younger Lannister girl walked through the woods alone, the old witch’s laughter ringing in her ears as she went.


	9. The Cost of a Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'I hope you know that I will cut off your ugly little head of you ever dare to try and put my crown on it,' Cersei hissed. The younger girl trembled from her sister’s threats, a mixture of horror and disbelief in her eyes. More than anything, Jeyne wanted to believe that her sister was only bluffing, but Cersei’s eyes were so hard and so cruel that she knew that this was no empty threat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I know it's been forever since the last update, and I am so sorry about that. I'm trying to give this as much attention as I can, but because of a number of things that's been difficult lately. I haven't abandoned this story, and I don't plan to. So, after a way too long late, I finally have a new chapter for all of you. Thank you to everyone who's stuck with me on this, and I hope you enjoy!

“You will not breathe a word of this to anyone,” Cersei demanded, her first words to her since they had escaped Maggy’s hut. Jeyne shook her head immediately, tossing her blonde curls with as much vigor as she could manage. Her sister hadn’t yet mentioned anything about Maggy’s yellow eyes, and Jeyne did not want to give her a reason to think anything of it. “Good,” Cersei responded. The younger girl soaked in her sister’s approval, wondering how long it would be until her sister decided she was no longer worthy of it. What if she knew already? What if this was all just an act to keep her closer so that it would be easier for her to kill her in her sleep? _Do not think of it,_ Jeyne told herself. If she let herself be afraid than Cersei would be able to tell, and then she would know that there was something suspicious, and then - “Why do you look so afraid, sister?” Cersei asked, “the prophecy was about _me,_ not you. Besides, it won’t come to fruition - the younger queen will soon find herself without her beautiful head.” A chill went down Jeyne’s spine, the young girl wincing at the thought of her head rolling away from her body. For the first time, Jeyne found herself grateful that she wasn’t as lovely as her sister. She might be younger than Cersei, but she was certainly not more beautiful, and that alone might be enough to stay her sister’s suspicion.

“I don’t think there’s a younger and more beautiful queen at all,” Jeyne responded, “nobody is more beautiful than you, and I don’t think anyone ever will be. It’s make-believe, Cersei, it _has_ to be.”

“But what if it isn’t? I have to be wary, or else this… this _woman_ might take everything from me. _Everything._ Her, and the valonqar - what does that even mean? It sounds Valyrian, but Father never bothered to add that to my lessons. He thought I wouldn’t need to know so much - I am only a _girl_ after all,” Cersei recalled, spitting out the word girl as if it were a swear word. Jeyne bit back a frown - Father had added High Valyrian to _her_ lessons, but she knew that Cersei would be outraged if she told her that. She supposed Father had thought that Jeyne might need the extra instruction since she wasn’t as naturally talented as Cersei, but she knew that her sister would take it as a slight. She thought back to her lessons, wondering what the word might mean. It sounded familiar, but she had forgotten. It was typical of her, stupid, silly little Jeyne to forget her lessons now that they actually mattered.  

“I shall ask Father after the feast. My betrothal will be announced then, and I think it best to only have happy thoughts during such an important moment.” Cersei paused, her eyes shining with something that Jeyne couldn’t quite place, but terrified her nonetheless. “You _won’t_ be getting betrothed.”

“No, I won’t be,” Jeyne replied, puzzled.

“Which means you have time to focus on other things. Like finding the younger and more beautiful queen, for example.” _It’s me,_ Jeyne thought, desperately trying to stop the tears threatening to burst out of her eyes. _I don’t need to look, I’m right here. I’m sorry, Cersei, I’m sorry I’m sorry I-_ “Jeyne? Will you do this for me or not?”

“Of course,” Jeyne replied, silently cursing herself. She had been too quick, too loud, too forced - surely Cersei, _clever_ Cersei would know something was off and then - no. She was doing this wrong, it wasn’t the right strategy. It was like Papa’s games, except instead of gaining power over someone else she had to control herself. If she didn’t let herself become afraid in the first place, then Cersei would have no reason to suspect anything. It was simple, really. All she had to do was play pretend. “Anything for you, Cersei. You’re right, you’re _always_ right. We must be careful. I’ll keep an eye out for her,” _Control yourself,_ Jeyne thought. Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile that she hoped looked brighter than it felt. “Besides, tonight can still be fun for the both of us - it’ll be just like a game of come into my castle! Except instead of the princess you’re the queen, and instead of the knight - well, the horse, usually - I’ll be your master of whisperers! And there will be the most beautiful dresses, and music, and _dancing_ -”

“Stop being so childish, Jeyne. I’m going on one and ten, I don’t have time for your silly games,” Cersei complained, rolling her eyes at her sister. _Good_ , Jeyne thought. Well, not exactly - she didn’t like it when Cersei was rude - but it was normal, and that was close enough. “I have to go change into a new dress for my betrothal feast. You should as well, you can hardly show up to meet the royal family with mud all over the hem of your dress. The mulberry one. You’ll stand out too much in the emerald, don’t you think?” Jeyne wilted at her sister’s words. The emerald one had been her favorite. She liked the way the skirts swished when she twirled and the way it made her eyes sparkle. Jeyne knew that she would never be one, but it made her feel rather like a princess. It was perfect for the feast, but one look at her sister’s sharp eyes was enough to dissuade her from protesting. Father’s words echoed in her head. _Do not pick battles you cannot win. Know your place_.

“It’s your night, Cersei. I’m glad to wear whatever you think best,” she replied, suddenly feeling guilty. It was a special day for her sister. She was getting _betrothed_ , after all. And after all those horrible things she had heard in the forest…. What kind of sister would she be if she did not let Cersei have this one night for herself? Besides, the mulberry gown _was_ pretty, even if it wasn’t stunning like the emerald one. It had a gentle, demure sort of beauty to it. _Father_ , she thought, _will like me better in it._

* * *

 

Jeyne clutched tightly onto Jaime’s arm as she gazed around the feasting hall, her eyes widening at the sight of all of the splendor. Mountains of food - spiced duck, fresh dates, whole roasted pigs with apples all the way from the Reach in their mouths - were piled on every table, with overflowing goblets of wine next to them. The hall was so filled with people that Jeyne thought it wouldn’t be able to hold all of them. She took particular care to look at the ladies’ gowns, enthralled by the fashions from all over Westeros. They were all still now, out of respect to the royal family and their hosts, but the band was still playing lively music, and she knew that in a few moments the hall would erupt into shouts and laughter.

Father had entered first, with Cersei on his arm. Despite the grandeur around them, she only had eyes for the Prince. Father had seemed a little disgruntled, but Jeyne assumed it was just because he didn’t like feasts very much. They too loud and gaudy, with too many happy people. It was sad, Jeyne thought, for someone to not even want to smile at a feast.

Cersei, though, was beaming. If she was still concerned about the prophecy she was doing an excellent job hiding it. Her sister was radiating joy, giving out more smiles to those in her path than Jeyne had ever seen Cersei give in her life. It was a relief to see. If she’d forgotten about the prophecy already, she certainly wouldn’t be thinking about the girl Maggy’s eyes had settled on. Wouldn’t be thinking about _her_. Maybe she wouldn’t have to pretend to enjoy the feast after all.

Jaime, on the other hand, was not pretending to enjoy anything. He still had that same sour look on his face from the tourney, which made it difficult for her not to roll her eyes at her brother. Cersei might call Jeyne a babe, but Jaime acted like it far more often. The fight had been _hours_ ago and he was still sulking. It wasn’t becoming of anyone, let alone the heir to the Westerlands, but Jeyne kept it to herself.

The pair sat down on the dais, at the head of the feast. It was thrilling to be seated in a position of such importance, even if she was at the very edge of it. Father stood up and said some remarks, welcoming their guests and the like, and then the feast _really_ began. It was a spectacle unlike anything Jeyne had ever seen before, hundreds of lords and ladies whirling around the dance floor, bright skirts twirling around them as they went. The noise in the hall was deafening, but not unpleasant. Jeyne itched to go dance with them, but Septa Elys said that a lady had to wait to be asked to the floor before she went to go dance. It did not take long, however, for Uncle Gerion to offer her his hand.

“Might I have this dance, my lady niece?” He asked, a boyish grin on his face. Jeyne lit up, practically leaping into his arms. Off they went, spinning and clapping in time with the music. She giggled as he lifted her in the air so high that she felt like she was flying, red-cheeked and jubilant. Jeyne was passed between all of her uncles and the children of her father’s bannermen. She felt guilty turning down a few stable boys for dances, but she did not want to risk Father’s anger on such a wonderful night. Truly, it was perfect. Well, almost perfect. Jaime was still in a mood, picking at his food with his stormy eyes cast towards a spot on the dance floor. Huffing, Jeyne hurried over to the dais. Her brother _would_ enjoy the feast, she would make sure of it.

“Come, Jaime, dance with me!” She begged, tugging on the edge of his sleeve. Scowling, he ripped it away as he ignored her in favor of his duck. Ever persistent, she nudged his arm, the smile having faded from her face. “Why not? It’ll be fun, I promise!”

“I just don’t want to, alright?” There was an edge to his tone that frightened Jeyne a little, but she stayed by his side. Cersei was always angry, but Jaime was almost always gentle with her. Suddenly, Jeyne realized that perhaps he wasn’t upset about the fight after all. No, something else was the matter. She lifted her eyes away from her brother and towards the spot where her brother’s had been aimed at. It was Cersei, laughing as she danced in Prince Rhaegar’s arms. It was the happiest that Jeyne had ever seen her, her face so bright that it seemed as though she was the sun itself. But why would that make Jaime upset? _Oh_ , she thought, the gears clicking in her mind. Jaime was _jealous_.

“You know that she still loves you more, don’t you?” Jeyne asked gently, placing her hand on his arm. This time, he did not pull away. The anger in his eyes faded to sadness, and Jeyne’s heart wrenched for him. There was something else, too, curiously close to suspicion.

“How do you… how do you know about that?” He asked, alarmed.

“I guessed,” she said simply, “you were so angry when you were looking at her. It wasn’t hard to put it together, really.” Jaime looked a little green, as if he were about to be ill. He was even more upset than Jeyne had thought. His blonde head shook in despair.

“You can’t tell anyone, Jeynie. Nobody, do you understand?” Her brother looked terrified, which Jeyne found rather odd. Anxious, maybe - it was a little embarrassing - but to be that afraid was unusual for her brave older brother.

“Of course I won’t tell Cersei! She’d understand if I did, though. You’re her _twin_ , Jaime. Nothing can change that, even when she lives all the way in King’s Landing. You _must_ know that,” Jeyne replied, trying her best to comfort her brother. His eyes widened and filled with relief. She smiled a little at that, glad that she had helped her brother feel a little better.

“I suppose so,” he admitted, causing Jeyne’s face to break out into a full on beam.

“Good. Will you dance with me now, then? Pretty please?” Grudgingly, he held out his hand, but before she could take it the music stopped abruptly. Father’s orders, most likely. Sure enough, he stood up once more before the crowd of people, each one frozen in their spots.

“The feast has commenced,” Tywin said, a command more than a statement. His voice was colder than usual, and it sent shivers down Jeyne’s spine. She had expected him to give an explanation (which was silly of her - she knew well that Lannisters did not explain themselves to anyone) but he did not. Instead, he briskly walked away from the dais and straight out of the hall, the great wooden door slamming behind him. Dread settled in the pit of Jeyne’s stomach. Something was wrong. The feast was not supposed to end for another hour, and then Cersei’s betrothal was to be announced. But if the feast was over, and there had still been no announcement… _no._ It couldn’t be. Jeyne’s head snapped to her sister, confusion contorting her pretty face. Soon it would twist into rage, or sadness - Jeyne was not sure which one yet, but it would be one of the two. _You will not marry the prince_ , she heard Maggy the Frog cackle, _you will marry the king_. But it seemed that Cersei would marry neither. The old witch had been wrong. And if she’d been incorrect about that, then maybe there was no younger and more beautiful queen after all, no betrayal by her hands. It was that thought running through her mind as she rushed through the crowd to stand by her sister’s side, but the massive throng of people heading for the exit made it impossible. The flurry of activity that had once been magical had turned into chaos, and Jeyne was lost in it. Frantically, she looked around for a familiar face to latch onto. Relief flooded her as she locked eyes with Aunt Genna, her little legs carrying her towards her until she all but collided with her aunt.

“Peace, child,” Aunt Genna chided as she grasped Jeyne’s hand. Her grip was tighter than usual, Jeyne noticed, though it was most likely because of the crowd. She tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut that it was because something was wrong, but no matter how much she tried it would not go away.

The older Lannister guided the younger as they weaved through the throngs of people. Finally, they reached the tent Jeyne shared with Cersei. Aunt Genna stopped at its entrance, kneeling down to be at the same level as her niece.

“Get some rest now, darling girl. It’s been a long day, and we have an even longer journey home tomorrow,” Genna said as she placed a kiss on Jeyne’s cheek. The older woman stood up to leave, but Jeyne tugged on the edge of her sleeve.

“What about Cersei?” Jeyne asked, frowning. Her sister was both upset and missing, a combination that made Jeyne’s stomach turn.

“She’s with your father - there are a few small matters he’d like to discuss with her. Your sister will be back within the hour, you’ll see. Nothing to fret about. Now, for the seven’s sake, get some sleep-”

“But the betrothal! Cersei said you told her that it was to be announced tonight, but it wasn’t,” Jeyne said, interrupting her aunt’s reassurances, “It hasn’t been called off, has it?” Her heart was beating faster, anxious to hear a reply. Jeyne’s words were optimistic, but she knew otherwise. Father was often angry, but never without a cause. She hoped with everything in her that her father’s cold fury had been completely unrelated to Cersei’s betrothal, but that was seeming more and more unlikely by the second.

“Hush, child! You mustn’t speak so loudly about such things, you hear!” Genna chided, ushering Jeyne into the tent for greater privacy. “Your sister should not have told you about that - once this all calms down I will be having a word with her. Now that you know, though, I suppose there’s no point in hiding anything from you.” She poked her head through the flaps of the tent, her head whipping back and forth as she looked around. Satisfied with the lack of eavesdroppers, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “King Aerys - the bloody fool of a man - has refused Cersei’s hand for Prince Rhaegar.” Jeyne’s eyes widened, her whole body stiffened in shock. He refused _Cersei?_ There was no bride in all of Westeros more deserving of the prince than her sister. Any prince would be honored with such a bride, beautiful and noble, clever and strong.

“He refused her? Who could he possibly want instead? She’s the most beautiful girl in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and Father is Hand of the King! There is no match in all of Westeros better than her, surely the king knows that!” Jeyne burst out, incredulous. None of this made any sense, none at all.

“I know, little cub, I know. For a long time  I’ve doubted those rumours that the King was mad - he had enough good sense to pick your father as his hand, after all - but now I’m starting to see the merit in them,” Aunt Genna muttered, a sigh interrupting her words, “Anyhow, it’s the whole Hand of the King business that got us into this whole mess. Do you know what the king said to your father? That Tywin is his ‘most able servant’ but that ‘a man does not marry his heir to his servant’s daughter.’ Can you believe it? It’s all nonsense, of course. Aerys has been jealous of your father ever since those rumors started spreading about Tywin ruling the Seven Kingdoms instead of him. Men are always afraid of the truth, dear, especially when it is not an easy one. Aerys is no exception - if anything, he’s much, much worse. That man will stop at nothing to take your father down a peg, which is why he refused the betrothal. It had nothing to do with your sister’s suitability to be Queen, only the King’s petty need to destroy your Father’s reputation.”

Jeyne listened to her aunt with bated breath, unsure of what to think. What Aunt Genna had said was _treason_ , yet it rang with truth. Any King that refused Cersei would have to mad. It felt wrong, in some ways, to believe her aunt, but it felt much worse to believe that Cersei did not deserve to be queen. Maybe she was afraid of the truth as well, in some ways. She felt uneasy putting such thoughts into her head. If the King was truly mad - and he must be - then where did that leave them? Why would Father serve a man he knew to be unworthy of the throne? Why would the realm obey him without question? _And why,_ she thought, _should I?_

She knew the answer - the Gods had seen fit to put him on the Iron Throne. The reason was theirs to know and not Jeyne’s to question. She knew that. But that man wanted to hurt father, to hurt _Cersei_. The Gods might have had their reasons to put King Aerys on the throne, but that did not mean that it was their will to keep him there. _You will marry the King_ , Jeyne heard. Perhaps the Seven would have mercy on Cersei and would find her another way to her crown, one that had nothing to do with King Aerys.

But would that be mercy? There was still the prophecy to consider. Maybe keeping Aerys in power _was_ merciful if it would spare her sister all of that pain, even if the current rejection would sting. Or maybe, just maybe, she was overthinking everything.

“Have you seen Cersei? Is she alright?” Jeyne asked. All of those thoughts had been foolish, every one of them. Forget prophecies and loyalty, she had a sister that needed her and all of the love in the world to give.

“No, I haven’t. I’d assume that she’s furious - your sister is half a lion and prouder than any of them. Rejection is hard on anyone, but especially on our Cersei. I trust I don’t need to remind you to be kind to her,” Genna instructed, her voice firm but loving.

“Yes, Aunt Genna,” Jeyne replied. She had not planned on anything else.

“Good. Now, for the last time, get some _rest_.” Her aunt patted her on the cheek before leaving without giving time for Jeyne to respond in the affirmative. She was glad of it. That way she would not have to lie. Cersei would have to come back at some point, and Jeyne would be waiting for her.

* * *

It took less than an hour for Cersei to arrive at the tent. Jeyne had expected her to storm in angrily, shoving open the flaps of the tent with her nostrils flaring and steam pouring out of her ears. She was nothing if not calm, though, walking in with her head held high. If Jeyne hadn’t known that something was the matter, she never would have guessed it. She supposed she should feel relieved - of course it was a good thing that Cersei did not seem to be so upset - but it only made her more worried. It was never nice, exactly, when Cersei was angry, but at least it meant she wasn’t hiding something. Only she was now. But why?

“You’ve heard, I assume,” Cersei stated, her tone expressionless. No, not expressionless. Cold. There was ice on her sister’s tongue, and it chilled Jeyne to the bone.

“Cersei, I’m sorry-”

“Are you?” Cersei asked. Her words were blades and she drove them straight into Jeyne’s chest. She felt them there as sharp as any knife, and surely more painful than any. “Are you really?”

Why would Cersei say something so awful? Jeyne had nothing to do with this! She had no reason to be angry with her, not unless - her heart stopped in her chest. The prophecy. Cersei knew, she _must._

“You told me the prophecy had to be fake. You told me that, and I believed you. Of course, we had to be careful, so I sent you on a mission to find the younger queen. Tell me, sweet sister, did you?” It was not just a blade, Jeyne had decided. There was venom, too, seeping through her voice.

“No,” Jeyne replied, quietly, “I didn’t.” Immediately, she cast her eyes towards the ground, her vision blurred by teardrops. Between the dancers and the music and Jaime’s sad eyes, she had forgotten all about it. Her sister had needed her and she had _forgotten._

“I thought not. Why would you even try? You know who the younger queen is. You’ve known since the forest, haven’t you? Haven’t you?”

“Please, Cersei, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I looked, I promise but I-I couldn’t find anyone. I’m sorry,” Jeyne lied. The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but she forced them out anyway. She knew exactly what her sister was saying, and she hadn’t looked. Perhaps that was how she would end up betraying her sister. Not purposely, but by forgetting to help her. It was a terrifying thought on its own, but it was made even more frightening with the knowledge that, in a way, it had already happened.

“When Maggy was telling us about the younger and more beautiful queen she was staring straight at you,” Cersei stated. Jeyne opened her mouth to protest, but her sister lifted a hand up, silencing her. “Don’t try and deny it. I know what I saw. The entire prophecy she was looking at me, but for that one line, all of her attention was on you. Afterward, I told myself that my eyes were playing tricks on me. Jeyne would never betray me like that. No, not my sister. You’ve always been so dutiful, so timid. I never thought you were capable of going anywhere without trailing behind me like some poor, lost little dog. You, of all people, taking my crown? It was unthinkable. Maggy had to have been lying. It was the only way it made any sense. But now,” Cersei began, her eyes glinting with something that made Jeyne tremble with fear, “it seems that the prophecy might be true after all. I will not be marrying the prince. Aerys will not let it happen, so we won’t be wed until Prince Rhaegar becomes the King. And if that’s true, then surely other parts of the prophecy are as well. No wonder you were so adamant about telling me that the prophecy was a farce. You didn’t want me to become suspicious, did you? Well, it didn’t work. I know about your ambitions, sister mine. And I hope you know that I will cut off your ugly little head of yours before you ever dare to try and put my crown on it,” Cersei hissed. The younger girl was shaking from her sister’s threats, a mixture of horror and disbelief in her eyes.

More than anything, Jeyne wanted to believe that her sister was only bluffing, but Cersei’s eyes were so hard and so cruel that she knew that this was no empty threat. Tears spilled down Jeyne’s cheeks, her fear pouring out of her like the rushing waters of the cliffs of Casterly Rock. Surely Cersei had been possessed by some demon to have said such a thing. She must have. How could this be her sister, her Cersei, the same girl with whom she had played come-into-my-castle and hide and seek. The older sister that she giggled and gossiped with as they embroidered by the fire. They had shared their secrets and their beds, limbs tangled in an endless knot as they dreamed of the stars together. Jeyne remembered the way Cersei had held her the night Mama died, her warm arms holding her close as she sobbed into her shoulder. She had been there for her, then. She had always been there for her.

Was all of that love really gone? Had the promise of a crown poisoned Cersei so thoroughly that she would choose it over her own sister? That she would kill her over it? Was she truly worth less than a silly metal circlet? Jeyne was completely devoted to Cersei, had done everything in her power to see her safe and happy and yet it was not enough. The worst of it, though, was that despite all of the horrors that had come from Cersei’s mouth Jeyne still loved her. Her sister was more than this monster, she had to be. She was angry and humiliated, and it was clouding her judgment. She didn’t mean it. Perhaps it was a bluff after all, and all Jeyne needed to do was to make her see reason.

“Cersei, please, listen to me!” Jeyne begged, her warbling voice thick with tears, “I know that Maggy was looking at me during the prophecy. I knew and I kept it from you and I’m _sorry_. But I don’t want your throne. I don’t. All I ever wanted was for you to have it, for you to be _happy_ and I don’t - I don’t understand any of this. Maybe she was only guessing. Or -” All of a sudden, Jeyne’s words died in her throat. The thought of Maggy and her sharp teeth and yellow snake-like eyes sent a shiver down her spine, but something new came with it. She remembered her first lesson with father about power. He had told her that acting powerfully wasn’t always the best way to get what she wanted, but there _was_ truth in the fact that nobody has power unless others believe that they do. And Maggy was an evil old witch - of course she wanted people to believe she was powerful. She had _wanted_ Cersei to see the way she stared at Jeyne. It was all on purpose. “This is what she wanted, Cersei. Can’t you see? Her prophecies give her fame and enough money to get by on, but only if people keep coming for them. And they won’t, not unless they come true. She’s tricking us! If we start to hate each other then there’d be nothing stopping me from taking your crown. But it won’t work, we won’t let it. I’m your sister, and I love you. There is no prophecy in the world that would change that. I don’t know if she’s really able to see the future, or if she made it all up. But I do know that I would never take anything away from you, not now and not ever. Please, Cersei, you have to believe me.” Jeyne’s eyes were wide and pleading. The two girls had reached a fork in the road, and Cersei’s answer would determine which path they’d take. Jeyne did not know what was coming, but she knew that she did not want to face it alone. But would Cersei?

The older girl paused for a long time, carefully mulling over her sister’s words. Jeyne could not tell what was flashing in her sister’s eyes, her anxiety growing with the uncertainty. It felt like forever had passed before Cersei answered, a span of time that somehow held the weight of two entire futures and the threads of blood that held them together. Jeyne waited on the precipice of eternity, wondering whether the world she knew would ever be within her grasp again.

“I don’t trust you,” Cersei stated. Jeyne’s heart sunk into her chest, stopping altogether when her sister continued to speak, “but I trust that woods witch even less. Perhaps you’re right about her. Tread carefully, little sister. If you stay loyal, like you swore you would, I’ll give you the same in return. We needn’t let this tear us apart. But I _will_ put your head on a spike if you ever think of betraying me, do not forget that.”

Jeyne knew she should feel relieved - her sister’s response was much warmer than she had dared hope for - but instead, she only felt empty. There was something lost in the space where Cersei’s image used to be, as if the pedestal she had placed her sister on had somehow tumbled. She seemed more human, now, imperfect in a way she had never been before. Her face was just as fair as it had always been, but now that Jeyne had seen the ugliness that was in her heart she could not ignore it.

That night, Jeyne lay in her bed alone. Cersei had chosen not to share it with her, and she found that she minded it less than she had expected. When she finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, she dreamed of yellow eyes and crooked fingers pointed straight at her, of bloody crowns and blonde heads on spikes.

For all of her life, Jeyne would carry those words with her. At night, she would lie awake, haunted by the threats of the sister she loved. _Do not forget,_ Cersei had said. And even when her older sister had been reduced to nothing but dust and ash, when her emerald eyes had been eaten away by maggots and her fair skin crumbled away, Jeyne would not forget.


End file.
